


Foundations

by ShudderShock



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Destroy Ending, Drama, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Non-Canon Relationship, Polyamory, Porn With Plot, Post-War, Romance, Slow Burn, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-09-20 23:31:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 36,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9520907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShudderShock/pseuds/ShudderShock
Summary: After the war, Shepard is sent to Palaven by the Council. There, amongst facing the repercussions of the past, and political entanglement of the present, she may find a solid foundation for the future.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: Foundations
> 
> Author: Shudder Shock (http://afterlife-club.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Pairings: Garrus Vakarian/Female Shepard/Adrien Victus
> 
> Summary: After the war, Shepard is sent to Palaven by the Council. There, amongst facing the repercussions of the past, and political entanglement of the present, she may find a solid foundation for the future.
> 
> Rating: Mature, consensual and explicit. The best parts of sex.
> 
> A/N:
> 
> A. This project is an exploration of healing, acceptance, sex, love and how all of those factors can relate to each other in a healthy, mature way. 
> 
> B. This story features polyamory themes, a first for me to write about. A fair warning: this story goes pretty hot and heavy with Shep/Vic, with underlying Shep/Garrus, at least in the beginning/middle. So if Shep/Vic is truly not your cup of tea, you _may_ want to turn around. I'd hate to disappoint you by not offering up the Shep/Garrus goods early on. If that warning doesn't deter you, then please, _enjoy_. Garrus/Shep/Vic is seriously my favorite OT3. 
> 
>  +++

The Citadel’s artificial sunlight was bright, buttery and warm on Shepard’s pale face. It danced through the glass panes of Professor Mordin Solus’ private office, casting beautifully lit prisms on the spotless, white berber carpet. The view outside was bustling, and cheerful. Tourism was back in full swing; visitors were edger to spend time and money at the location that had become so central to ending the Reaper War. The Presidium, itself, showed only the smallest signs of the galactic war that rocked the core of every citizen in the Milky Way.

In retrospect, Shepard wasn't that surprised that the Citadel began reconstruction in what was probably a matter of hours after the Reapers were destroyed. The Keepers were absolutely unreal. They had been sorting through, and cleaning up _body parts_ , while Shepard had stumbled around the deep corridors looking for a way to reach the Crucible. They had almost seemed annoyed at her for tripping over the piles of limbs, that they had constructed.

After all, the universe can’t have _Citadel Space_ without the political and cultural heart that the massive hub housed. In the last seven months, it was almost like nothing had happened to the grand space station.

“Shepard. Focus, please. Would like for you to talk about the first thing you remember, after activating the Crucible.” Mordin’s clipped voice brought Shepard’s attention back to the Salarian sitting across from her. On his insistence, Shepard was prone on a comfortable couch, hands resting on her flat stomach. He held a data pad in his long fingers and would occasionally add notes to a patient log that Shepard knew was about her. 

After all, she was here for therapy. 

She sighed miserably. 

It had seemed like _such_ a good idea to accept this offer from Mordin. She was no fool; Shepard knew the war had left trauma on her psyche.

She just hasn’t expected it to be so hard, and stalled for a few minutes too long.

“Not getting any younger, Shepard. Rest assured, will be dead by the time we make progress at this rate.” Mordin scolded.

The salarian doctor was only so patient.

“You don’t have a very warm bedside manner, Professor.” Deflected Shepard.

“Am a geneticist by trade. Only majored in psychology as a hobby. Offered therapy for a friend. You, being that friend.” He took a sharp breath through his nose slits, before smiling. “Also, you know that I have very pleasant relationship with all my patients.”

Mordin sounded chipper as always. Shepard turned back to the window, soaking the warmth in. A human and asari child were playing together in one of the courtyards. They were laughing. Seven months ago they would have been screaming. “I remember thinking that I was suffocating to death. Like when I got spaced.” she started.

She saw him nod, and type something on the data pad, out of her peripheral vision. “Heard about that. Awful business.”

“Yeah, it hurt. The whole thing felt like it was just collapsing; it came down. All around me. On me. I fell to the floor, and just remember thinking… _God, all this blood is mine._ I couldn’t breathe, or move. I wasn’t… scared, though.” The children had started a game of tag. Shepard watched them for a moment. Her stomach felt like a lead ball was in it. “Just relieved, because I knew it was over. I passed out right after that. I was dying.” she said with certainty.

Mordin continued to tap notes into an entry. 

“Then what?” he asked softly and gently.

Shepard squeezed her eyes shut, and willed her heart rate down. 

“I heard my name. The pressure was lifted off of my back. I still couldn’t move, but there was a… draft of air. And there was Garrus.” His name pained her. “Everyone said I had been up there for hours, before my location could be found.”

“...Correct.” The salarian sounded melancholy. 

She glanced out the window again. The game of tag had turned into hide and seek.

“Professor, I should be dead.” Shepard confidently said.

There was no need to honey-coat it.

The facts were the facts.

Mordin uncrossed his legs and leaned towards her. She saw her own face reflected in his large, black eyes.

“But not dead. Survived. Alive to see all that you worked for. In fact, still working for, even against your trusted doctor’s orders.” He stood and paced around his office. One of his fingers tapped his chin. 

“Happy to hear you decided to leave the Alliance military. Not so much at keeping your Spectre status and responsibilities. Should be out enjoying life. Long holidays on the beach, writing bestselling memoir or even passing on your highly desirable genetic code with mate of choice." He paused, deep in thought, "So, where is your happy ending?"

Shepard watched him.

Mordin was alive to chastise her, and she was so glad for it. A smile crept onto her mouth. “I was sort of hoping you could help me answer that.”

“Yes, working on it. How is the medication treating you?” Mordin had already processed what he wanted to from his last statement, and was moving right along to the next topic. Shepard enviously wondered what it was like to not dwell on stupid things like _emotions_ or _feelings_.

“It's alright. Temazepam doesn’t exactly keep the nightmares at bay.” she said.

“Unfortunately, can't prescribe anything for those. Is why you're in therapy with me, however.” He assured her.

The truth was, Shepard didn’t take the sleep aid as often at Mordin would have liked. She knew that he suspected that, had hinted at it occasionally, but didn't press the issue. Though, insomnia and nightmares weren’t pleasant, she was concerned that the pills might work too well. What if they put her in such a stupor, that her reaction time failed her, leaving her open to an unexpected nighttime attack? No, it was better to spend her sleepless nights authorizing requisitions at the Spectre Terminal. 

_The highlight of my career._ She resentfully thought.

Shepard shifted on the couch to stretch. It felt strange not to be in fatigues. She was still in the process of getting used to civilian clothing. She felt awkward at times wearing high-waisted denim pants, and satin camisole tops; not because she missed the uniforms, but because she felt undeniably feminine. And that felt _good_. Gender wasn’t exactly something she had been trained to focus on during her years in the military. 

Even if others had noticed it for her.

And despite her love for heavy, smoky kohl around her eyes and a dark stain on her lips, she had little time for anything pretty in the last three years.

These were probably the sort of things she should be using her time with Mordin to talk about. Instead Shepard sat up, grabbing her shoes. The couch was really just too nice to put anything but bare feet on, despite what the doctor might say.

“Leaving, Shepard?” he asked.

“Yeah… I’m catching a flight in a few hours…” She didn’t even bother to hide the annoyance in her voice.

Mordin had settled himself back into his chair, hands neatly placed on his knee. “Go on.”

“It’s classified.” Shepard lied. She didn’t want to talk to him about this.

“Bullshit.” he reprimanded.

“Professor!” It was rare to hear the salarian curse. She feigned hurt. “That’s rude.”

Mordin had the nerve to shake his finger at her. It was an undeniably paternal motion. “Never good at lying. Don’t start now.” he chided.

Shepard ran a hand through her hair. It was so long now. It wasn't quite a buzz cut when she got hit with the beacon on Eden Prime, but it'd been pretty damn close. Now thick, straight black locks hung down far past the center of her back. 

Right before the final bull rush against Reapers, Garrus had asked if she intended to cut it. She had been puzzled by his question, wondering why he was asking about something so unimportant. Shepard had shrugged at him, and then pulled her hair into a messy bun.

_Garrus._

_Damn it._

“Yeah. You’re right. The Council is sending me to Palaven…” she bemoaned.

Mordin didn't even acknowledge her discomfort.

“Good. Primarch Victus has political climate stable. Planetary climate on other hand - hot. Program shields into onmi-tool to protect against atmospheric conditions if outside.” he recommended. "Will forward some sightseeing suggestions to you."

The mention of the Primarch quelled some of the anxiety in Shepard. She always liked the older turian.

“I'm not being sent to Palaven for a vacation. I’m getting sent there on a mission of diplomacy. The galactic community has lost a lot of faith in the Council. Personally, I can't blame any political leader for wanting to break away from their influence." She lowered her pitch. "It's not like they did me any favors."

It had been no accident that she choice to ignore the Destiny Ascension's request for assistance all those years ago. It had been one of her more... radical decisions. "But, the Council feels that by sending Spectres out to personally evaluate any concerns from the planets that were hit the hardest, they can inspire loyalty again.”

“Seems like they could use their agents for less mundane tasks. SGT would never be called upon for such _things_.” He clearly thought this was waste of perfectly good resources. 

"It also seems like it would be more practical to send a turian agent to Palaven." That had really been nagging at her. She didn't have a carapace to defend against the solar radiation of that planet.

"Maybe, you're not a random selection." Mordin considered; the gears in his brain were obviously turning now. He was tapping his digit against his chin again.

Shepard adjusted the heavy pistol digging into her lower back before pulling on a fine-knit cardigan. It bellowed around her frame. Liara had assured her it was fashionable. Shepard bought it because it covered her gun without profiling. Even though she was authorized to be armed at all times, that didn’t mean she needed, or wanted to broadcast her weapon. There were still plenty of people in the universe, who would have loved to challenged the former Commander Shepard to a gunfight.

“That's crossed my mind. And, I agree. I didn't become a member of Special Tactics and Reconnaissance for these sorts of chores. But Spectres are the will of the Council. We preserve galactic stability.” The words came out hallow, like she was reading them from a very boring textbook.

“Well, easy enough job for you, Shepard. Perfect light duty. Welcome back to work. Plus, will get to see Garrus. Should make you happy.” he said.

“Actually, I plan to avoid him as much as possible. I’m going to get the job done, and get back to the Citadel.” The statement came out much harsher then she intended.

Guilt clawed its way up the back of her neck. “I really screwed that up.” She muttered, thinking about the turian.

Mordin met her eyes, dark and unblinking. “Doubtful. But avoidance is the problem. Expect you to keep to our weekly, one hour appointments. Will contact you via terminal vid chat. Will be very _disappointed_ if disregarded.” His hand was no longer resting on his knee— it hovered on the side of his chair, and Shepard was pretty sure that she wasn’t the only who had a gun in the neat, pristine office. 

“Are you threatening me, Professor?” asked Shepard, not feeling very threatened at all. Mordin was squirrelly, but not crazy enough to shoot her if she missed a therapy session. Or at least, Shepard hoped he wasn't.

“Would never dream of such a thing!” The professor pushed himself out of the chair and stood in front of her. “Besides, if shot you, it would only be a friendly flesh wound. To remind you not to dismiss your health.” His smile was sincere, his inflection doting. "Now, will see you next Friday, at 1600. Inform me if this time is not applicable, but don't try to cancel."

Shepard smiled at him, and walked out of Mordin's office.

+++

Shepard's past military experience had taught her to be prepared early and often, so she didn't need to pack anything before leaving the Citadel. She had done so two days prior. However, she did stop by her favorite cafe to buy two black coffees. Walking up to Dock 113, she spotted Liara dressed in white, sitting with her legs-crossed in the boarding area . The asari waved at her as she approached, and gladly accepted the drink from her.

Shepard settled down next to her, and Liara casually rested her head upon her shoulder. It wasn't romantic, for their relationship had never bloomed in such a way, but it was affectionate. Liara wasn't the first person to lean against her in this way. Tali had done it, too. Shepard had been happy to provide structure to their chaotic lives during the Reaper invasion, and if physically leaning on her braced them enough to continue the fight, then she could be their pillar.

She was built for it.

“Shepard. You look good." Shepard glanced down at Liara, as she spoke. The pleasant lighting of the Citadel really brought out her sapphire freckles. "But, I’m starting to wondering if you'll ever stop wearing neutrals. You dress like a stormy, rain cloud.” Apparently, teasing Shepard was Liara's idea of a good time these days.

Shepard watched the frigate that was to be her ship for this mission, receive its final safety check. Deep down, Shepard was hoping that something was catastrophically wrong with the damn thing. She knew that was utterly unlikely, however. The Council didn't put their agents on anything but the finest transport. It would be a sad day indeed, if a member of the Special Tactics and Reconnaissance unit got killed because a faulty fuel line busted under the pressure of take off.

Shepard tore her eyes away from the sleek vessel and back to the asari who had taken up resident on her shoulder. “Is there no _pleasing_ you, Liara? I mean, the Alliance doesn’t dress me anymore. I do it all by myself.” She really needed to stop her self-deprecating humor.

“Thank the Goddess. Those uniforms were so unflattering on you.” Liara said it with such a straight face, that Shepard had to wonder if she was being serious. She reminded herself that Liara had developed a real gift for dry humor. A lot of jesting could still sail right over her head, but the Asari could be remarkably deadpan, even more so then Garrus at times.

“We'll see how much fashion matters, the next time accidentally trap yourself in an energy barrier." Shepard replied callously. Nothing stopped Liara like a subtle reminder of her humble beginnings.

“Oh, I wish you would stop bringing that up.” she huffed.

“I’ll stop as soon as you stop making fun of the way I dance.” Shepard took a sip of her coffee. It was bitter and rich. Nothing like the water-downed dribble that the Alliance poured down their throats.

“You can’t dance. _Period_.” It was an easy jab, but laughter bubbled out of Shepard, anyway. She saw Liara smile. 

They drank their coffee and descended into comfortable companionship.

Liara eventually lifted her head away from Shepard, and asked, “So, you mentioned you were going to Palaven. Is the Primarch expecting you?”

Shepard took another swig of coffee and nodded. “This isn’t a situation that requires secrecy. The Council has alerted the proper Hierarchy channels to the intention of this visit. I assume that the Primarch knows about it too.”

“Adrien Victus is a good man. He's young, for a Primarch. So if everything keeps working out, he will be in power for many years. He doesn't appear to have many enemies, according to my..." And she trailed off, because nobody would expect this young, pretty asari to be the Shadow Broker, and it needed to remain that.

Liara drummed her fingers on the bench, and Shepard knew with a grimace what was coming next.

“Does Garrus know you’re coming?” Liara carefully asked.

“I have no idea.” Said Shepard dismissively.

Liara continued to dance her blue hand across the metal seat.

“Have you talk to him since…?” Shepard tuned out the rest of her question, because suddenly she was taken back to the moment in her mind that she was convinced would be her last. The finality of what was happening burned around her, rocking her foundation with each terrible, crushing step that the Reapers took towards their destruction. The smell of mud, blood and rotting flesh clung to Shepard’s nostrils. They were losing ground, and Shepard knew that once she rushed into the transport beam that she likely be cut loose from the mortal coil. But the alternative would be even more terrible. The sacrifice of one person outweighed the genocide that was currently happening, and would continue to happen for years.

Everything she had been fighting for was about to reach its conclusion, and how could that possibly mean she’d live? Shepard had made peace with death— already felt its embrace drifting helplessly in the black vacuum of space, with only her struggling breath, and the twisted metal of the SSV Normandy SR-1 for company. _So much left unfinished_ , had been her final thought.

But now, Shepard was ready to die, and stay dead.

With no regrets this time.

She should have handled it like the N7 operative she was, and commanded her squad to hold a defensive position with no emotion other than resolve. She should have then stoically charged in with a blaze of glory, ending her life but preserving the future of every other being in the known galaxy.

It almost had worked like that, but deep revelation shook Shepard’s heart, a latent secret that she had buried, and the need to confess overwhelmed her. It was during the worst firefight that the universe had seen in 50,000 years that Shepard turned to Garrus Vakarian, and told him that she loved him.

Breathing in the ashes of their enemies and allies alike, emotion overtook logic.

They were shoulder to shoulder behind a flipped ground transport vehicle, covered in gore. The hum of the Reaper’s beam indicated that it was going to take another blazing shot soon, and neither makeshift cover, nor Liara’s biotic field would hold up.

If it would have been a kinder day in history, he would've never heard her over the destruction.

But he did. 

He looked more shocked then she had ever seen, bright blue eyes open wide. His targeting visor was wildly streaming data, but Shepard could tell he was looking beyond that, right at her. It would have been wise to dramatically jump over the rubble, and start the rush towards to the transport beam. Instead, wisdom disintegrated as surely as they would, if the Reaper’s particle beam was allowed to fire again. Shepard surged forward and pressed her bloody mouth to Garrus’ own. She gave him zero opportunity to return it; not even sure the turian wanted too. She was gone over the M29, and into the beam in less then a minute. 

Liara's polite coughing brought Shepard back to the present. 

“No, I haven’t.” muttered Shepard.

Liara dipped her head back and a long suffering sigh followed. “Shepard. You’re stupid.”

“Mordin tells me the same thing.” And it's not like she disagreed with that statement. She _felt_ stupid for what had happened.

Liara wistfully covered her heart with her hand, and closed her eyes, swept up in emotion. “It was so romantic. Two lovers sharing a moment in the heat of battle. It was inspiring. I feel honored to have witnessed the exchange.”

Shepard started at her incredulously. 

“No. That’s the problem, Liara. There were _no_ lovers on the battlefield. I just threw that at him, right out of left field.” She punctuated the statement by taking Liara's empty coffee cup from her hand, and tossing it into a recycling container just across from them. “That’s the sort of distraction that can get soldiers killed.”

“But it _didn’t_ , Shepard." Liara reached out, and gave Shepard's hand a light squeeze. "And your plan to avoid Garrus isn't going to work. He has rapidly been promoted through the Hierarchy tiers. My resources suggests that he works quite closely with Primarch Victus. There's still a need for the Reaper task force that he led during the assault on Menae. You too, will be working closely with Primarch Victus. So regardless of your feelings, brace yourself.”

Shepard pursed her lips.“Why is his task force still needed?”

“I guess, you’ll just have to ask him yourself, won’t you?” Liara charmingly retorted.

A salarian dockworker approached them and nodded. The frigate was good to go.

Shepard stood, and Liara followed her up the ramp.

“I’m off. And how did you know I was planning to avoid Garrus?” That was a conversation she had hours ago with Mordin.

She hadn't mentioned it to Liara at all.

Liara sweetly smiled and embraced Shepard. “You know that information is my specialty. And I always have eyes on my interests.”

Shepard tried to ignore the chill that ran down her spine. Liara was _too_ good at her job, and Shepard was just happy that the asari looked at her so fondly.

+++

In the scheme of things, this wasn’t a bad assignment.

If Commander Bailey and the rest of C-Sec thought that _their_ paperwork was bad, Shepard was certain that heads would spin, if they ever saw the sort of nonsense Spectres were expected to file and process. Being independent agents of the Council wasn't all fun and games, after all. Shepard had spent the last month in front of the Spectre Terminal, playing the part of a gloried administration assistant. It had been mind-numbing.

The war was over, but cleanup was a bitch. Evacuation and relocation of refugees had severely taxed already limited social services, and tension was high between government officials and survivors. Pockets of Cerberus still existed, even after the Illusive Man’s death, and the Council wasn’t taking any chances with what was left of the terrorist group. They were to be wiped out, immediately. 

Shepard was all too willing to take up the task, but the Council hadn’t been ready to send her back out into the field, despite her protests. They claimed that she was too much of a valued agent to risk in anything, other than perfect health. The same could have been said about every other agent they had. _Be patient_ , they had urged her. 

But it was difficult to be patient when she had spent three months soaking up medi-gel in the Huerta Memorial Hospital inpatient wing. At least she had been in a medically induced coma for about half of the time, and the other half had her swimming in codeine. It wasn’t ideal, but had made the healing process easy. After that, came eight weeks of physical therapy. It had been agonizing, even with the Cerberus implants providing a boost to her skeletal and muscular systems. Mordin had overseen it all, and simply _rejoiced_ when he finally got to tell her about the long list of injuries she had sustained. “Very impressive!” he had proclaimed, with borderline ecstasy. 

It had been.

She had basically broken... everything.

Shepard let the simple wonder of being alive fill her. 

It was magnificent.

And terrifying.

What was she going to do?

She hadn’t made any plans to survive. 

_Oh, hell. Garrus._

She was about to be held very accountable for her ill-timed proclamation, and seven months of evasion.

On second thought, this was still the horrendous assignment that she had originally thought it to be.

Shepard leaned back into the comfortable leather seat, and watched the streaming void zip outside of the frigate. The solar wind cut across the ship, pushing curtains of diffused light around the hull. This starcraft wasn’t as nice as the Normandy; no ship would ever compare to the high-tech marvel that Shepard had commanded, not even one that was for Spectre use. 

But, it did have a lounge, and after Shepard refreshed her coffee, she tucked herself in an airchair. The hum of the ship lulled her to the point of drowsiness, and it was tempting to give in to her body’s desire for rest. But the trip to Palaven would be a short one. The Widow Relay near the Citadel was in shockingly good condition, and had propelled the starship with the ease of Shepard pulling the trigger of a gun.

The silver garden planet was looming, and the subtle shift in the hydraulics of the ship meant it was going to be entering Palaven’s atmosphere soon. 

She pulled up her omni-tool. It automatically synced to Cipritine’s resource banks. She was flying in late. It had only been 1900 when she left the Citadel, but the local time was 0100. Shepard sighed in annoyance.

Planetary jet lag was the worst.

Shepard pressed two fingers to her ear, activating the auditory implant and contacted Cipritine’s major spaceport. “This is Agent Jayne Shepard with Special Tactics and Reconnaissance requesting landing clearance.”

A pleasant, even female voice responded, “Clearance granted, Agent Shepard. The turian Hierarchy welcomes you to Palaven. We’ve been asked to provide you with transport Primarch Victus’ villa. We’ve marked the location on the map of your omni-tool.”

Shepard scowled. “It’s quite late. Wouldn’t the Primarch prefer a meeting in the morning?”

There was a pause, before the voice responded coldly. “This is the Primarch’s _preference_ , ma'am.”

Shepard rolled her eyes. She figured it would be a moot point, but it never hurt to try.

“Thank you, I’ll take the transport as soon as we’re docked.” She acknowledged, begrudgingly as it was.

“The vehicle will be waiting for you in Concourse A. Please, enjoy your stay.” Replied the voice, cheerful once more.

+++

Shepard didn’t make it beyond the frigate’s airlock before she had to toss her cardigan back into the ship. Even the light weight material was too much for the temperature of Palaven. Or, rather the humidity. It wasn’t only the heat that was unbearable, but the torrential downpour that was making the air thick and muggy.

The storm clouds combined with the duskiness of twilight provided enough protection from the planet’s weak magnetic field, and Shepard’s protective shield laid dormant. The gate opened to an immense terminal that was, despite the hour, rather busy. She quickened her pace, and made it to her vehicle without being stopped or recognized. Long hair and civilian clothing seemed to have that effect, when she was so well know wearing neat uniforms and tidy haircuts.

A bored looking chauffeur waited for her outside. He only greeted her with a nod, which suited Shepard fine. She appreciated the discretion. She got in the vehicle, and tried not to be annoyed at the young turian who had incompetently merged into the traffic zipping above them. He was utterly oblivious to the fact that she was cutting her eyes at him.

After a few minutes, he said “It’s about five minutes out.”

She nodded. There was no attempt at small talk.

Shepard turned her attention to the sterling cityscape that surrounded her. The turians used a consolidated scheme for city planning, developed for military defense and civil convenience. The basic plan consisted of a central forum with city services, surrounded by a compact, rectilinear grid of streets, and surrounded by a wall to protect it from invaders, and to mark the city limits. That wall was currently rubble. High towers loomed in key defensive positions. Places where city blocks should have been, were craters.

The evidence of a hard-fought, hard-won war.

The deluge gave way to drizzle by the time they arrived at Shepard's destination. Shepard felt her eyebrows almost hit her hairline when she saw Primarch Victus' _villa_. This was not some quaint chateau, not in the sense that Shepard had imagined; this was a soaring skyscraper, with an imposing archway and stable columns. It was the same lustrous material that the rest of the metropolis favored, but the structural arch clearly was intended to serve as a constant visual reminder of triumph and prowess. This was a symbol of government and military strength.

“This is the Primarch’s _villa_?” she asked in bewilderment.

Her questioning voice seemed to alert the driver that she was actually still in the car. He visibly jolted. “Oh. It’s on the top story. The guards inside will be happy to direct you, Agent Shepard.” He was clearly trying to pass the responsibility of explanation off to said _guards inside_.

She did him a favor, and opened the passenger door, stepping out. The fine mist tickled her skin, but did nothing to elevate the humidity. 

“Right. Have a _great_ night.” Sarcasm dripped off each word.

She walked into the imposing structure, and felt instant reprieve as the temperature regulators dried the mix of rain and sweat that had settled on her body.

There were two sentries stationed in the sprawling lobby armed with heavy armor and even heavier assault rifles. They stood on either side of an elevator. Shepard was ready to present her Spectre credentials, but they just waved her through, without so much as blink at the handgun she carried. “The Primarch is expecting you. Go right up, Commander.” one of them pleasantly said.

Shepard internally flinched at being addressed by her former rank. That wasn’t who she was anymore, but didn’t correct the guard. She knew that she would always be _Commander_ to the majority of the populace. 

_And that’s fine_ , she reminded herself.

She rode the lift with an odd sense of anticipation. Adrien Victus had been true to his promise to provide turian support to Earth's defensive forces against the Reaper attack. It surprised her to actually see him in London. She expected him to be kept safe from the frontlines; other diplomatic leaders certainly were. But, Victus was unlike any government leader that Shepard had ever met. He stood in the broken city, and readied his troops for an attack that guaranteed _nothing_. His message was ominous, yet his people watched and listened with adherence. 

It inspired her- an unfamiliar, but welcomed sensation. She was normally tasked with driving that particular feeling forward.

Shepard had caught his eye, as she had crossed the hallowed-out building that was serving as the turian post. She had been looking for Garrus. Victus dismissed his solders with roar, then approached her with a fearless gait. He opened his mouth to speak to her, but her memory failed at that point.

The doors of the elevator smoothly slide open, revealing a grand, polished, high end common room with windows from floor to ceiling. It was furnished with a large desk in the center, a lounge to the side and not much else. The lights were low, but the illumination of the city made the room glow.

Primarch Victus stood in front of the massive windows, hands clasped behind his back. He appeared to be quietly watching the downpour when Shepard walked in. Her footsteps seemed too loud in the dark, still space. The turian leader made an impressive silhouette, against the water distorted neon lights of the capital. His attire was much more formal then what Shepard had seen him wear on the Normandy. Shepard suddenly felt a bit too casual in her simple clothing.

“Commander.” He greeted, voice was low and smooth.

She shook her head, and smiled. “There’s no need for you to call me that anymore.” It was important for him to know that. She could let it slide with strangers with polite intentions, but Primarch Victus was defiantly more than a passing acquaintance. Shepard enjoyed the time that he had spent abroad the Normandy. The same couldn't be said for the other diplomats at the summit. It was disappointing when he finally left to concentrate on the Hierarchy's pressing obligations.

Victus gracefully turned to her. The glowing backdrop of the city highlighted the side of his face, picking up the sharp lines of his fringe and mandibles.

“My mistake. Would you care to be addressed as _agent_ , then?” he kindly asked.

His eyes seemed to glow like fire in his elaborately tattooed face; bleached sweeping lines on gray steel. Victus had small, thin fractures around his zygomatic facial plates, the only thing that could help Shepard guess his age. Old enough to have fought in the First Contact War, old enough to have a dead adult son, old enough to be promoted to Primarch of Palevan. And yet, he possessed an ageless quality. Adrien Victus was physically striking in a way that Shepard never noticed almost a year ago.

“Just...” For a moment, she considered asking him to call her _Jane_. It had been a long time since anyone had called her that. And Shepard felt like it would've sounded nice rolling between his gravelly tones. But, she decided against it; it just didn't feel _proper_. It also went against everything she learned in the Alliance about respecting boundaries and status.

“Just… Shepard.” she said.

He held out his hand to her, and Shepard extended her own, in what she thought must be the indicator of a handshake. Instead he gently took her fingers and curled them over his own. His thumb pad brushed over her knuckles lightly. “It’s good to see you, _Shepard_. You’re a welcomed sight.” he said, gazing down to meet her eyes. He stood so much taller then her unimpressive height.

His gesture surprised her, sending a curious tickle down her spine. Typically she only received brisk, firm handshakes or the occasional hug.

“Like wise, Primarch.” Said Shepard sincerely. She ran her free hand through her hair, trying to get cool air to the back of neck.

His mandibles fluttered, just a fraction. She lacked the ability to decipher the subtle facial mannerisms of turians, even after being around Garrus for so long. She could only guess that he was pleased by her reply.

“So, what’s the situation?” she asked.

Victus moved his gaze back outside.

“This rain.” He mused. “It’s not natural for this time of year. Spring, yes. But we’re quickly approaching the end of the fall equinox. It’s been like this since the Reapers were destroyed." Victus moved his eyes from the city, to the black sky. "Our meteorologists think that the atmosphere is naturally cleaning the build-up from our wasted cities. Our priests believe that tears of the fallen are being wept from the clouds." He made an annoyed sound in his throat. "A bit dramatic, for my tastes, but maybe both are correct. I personally feel like it’s a blessing and a curse. On one hand, we no longer have a breathing hazard, but the downpour is delaying construction and general clean up. Luckily, our aqueducts are resilient.”

He held her hand while speaking. Was still doing so.

Shepard withdraw it, reluctantly. He didn’t have gloves on. Thick talons whispered against her skin.

It felt nice.

“Just like your people. And, if makes you feel any better, Earth is having the same sort of weather patterns. This is new territory for all of us. We’re the first cycle to survive a Reaper invasion. It’s going to be difficult to predict how our environments, and our people will recover. That’s why I’m here. I’ll provide support anyway I can." In the past, Shepard had been told that her finest quality was altruism. She had also been called an idiot for the same trait.

Victus seemed lost in thought, before saying, “I wish you could have seen Cipritine before this, Shepard. Our capital was beautiful. Our world was beautiful.”

“It’ll be like that way again, Primarch.” Shepard softly said, looking up at him.

He turned to her again, and held her in his gaze. “Coming from you, those words may mean something.”

A heated tension had built-up in room, and Shepard found herself struggling with the resolve to break it.

Of course, it needed to be.

Shepard decided humor was always the best way to balance out pressure. “Ha. I’m nothing remarkable.”

There was truth to it. She had been only one, out of the millions who had contributed to the war effort. Deep down, she had never seen herself as anything but a solider. Good soldiers got the job done, regardless of the cost.

He gave her an intense look, that said in no uncertain terms, that he didn't find her comment to be funny.

“I’m glad you haven’t lost your sense of humor.” He muttered dreary.

The tension was still at a pitch. She made another effort to move past it.

“Is the weather the _only_ thing that’s giving Palaven problems?” Her voice was a lot louder than it needed to be.

He fixed her with another long stare, and moved away from the window. He walked to the grandiose, stainless steel desk. Orange terminals blinked to life. 

“ _Problems_ isn’t the right word. We’re in the process of rebuilding our fleets, rebuilding our cities and rebuilding our resources. That requires financial backing. Luckily, we’re a hardy bunch, so moral is a sturdy as ever. In general, the population is hopeful. We’re riding high on a major war victory. Still, I can’t help but be cautious. Palaven needs more funding from the Council.” 

Shepard had expected that. Too many of the requisitions at the Spectre Terminal involved appeals for financial backing. She had forwarded them all to the Exchequer, and Treasury Department.

An alert chimed over one of the terminals, and Victus leaned down to read it. Though he seemed preoccupied with the message, he asked, “How long are you staying?”

“As long as you need me too." She was finally starting to feel cool again. "There isn’t a deadline to this assignment, unless the Council summons me back, I'm all yours.”

He glanced at her.

"Yes, that's what I thought. There is something I’d like for you to look into, while you’re here. Something that requires your expertise, and I’d like your opinion on the matter. Did you bring an enviro-suit?” he asked.

They were back to business.

“Of course.” Shepard said.

She waited for him to continue. He rose back to his full height.

“Good. Garrus Vakarian and his task force are about are forty kilometers outside of Cipritine. There won’t be anything to shield you from the atmosphere. Transport will be provided at 0900.” He said, before approaching her once more.

Anxiety filled her. Liara had been correct, of course. There would be no avoiding Garrus. She let the responsibility of duty, and professionalism replace the feeling of dread. 

“Can you give me any details?” It was a fair inquiry.

“I think it will be apparent when you get out there.” Primarch Adrien Victus was still a General in his core, and if Shepard knew anything about Generals, it was that they could be enigmatic, if they damn well pleased. She could have pushed it— hell, with her Spectre status she could have demanded more information. If it would have been anyone else other than Victus, she was positive she would have. And, she wouldn't have been nice about it, either.

And yet, she found herself submitting to his abstruse whim.

“Well, then. I should get back to my ship.” Shepard said.

She wasn't tired, but knew that she needed to rest if she was undertaking a morning mission.

“No. That’s not necessary. The Hierarchy extends full hospitality to you. Your effects have been moved to the suite a floor down.” Victus stated.

Shepard wasn’t exactly happy to have her accommodations dictated. She liked to be familiar with the place she laid her head at night. Also, she didn't appreciate having her things moved without her consent. Shepard was packing a lot of Spectre issued firepower. It was the kind of arsenal that could be _very_ dangerous in untrained hands.

“A truly kind offer." She kept her voice even. "But I was born, and raised on a ship. And I think it goes without saying, that I’m very comfortable working and sleeping on one too.”

“Palaven is happy to host you, as am I.” His tone left no room for rebuff, or further argument.

And that was the problem with being a representative of the Citadel Council. Even Spectres were expected to observe local culture and custom, especially on a mission like this. All bets were off when the situation was dire, but she was hardly pursuing anything dangerous on Palaven. Conduct was important. She was going to lose this fight. It really wasn't worth it anyway.

“A generous offer. Thank you." She said, and turned to leave.

She could feel him watch her. 

Strangely, it didn’t bother Shepard.

End Chapter One


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: Foundations: Chapter Two
> 
> Author: Shudder Shock (http://afterlife-club.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Pairings: Garrus Vakarian/Female Shepard/Adrien Victus
> 
> Summary: After the war, Shepard is sent to Palaven by the Council. There, amongst facing the repercussions of the past, and political entanglement of the present, she may find a solid foundation for the future.
> 
> Rating: Mature, consensual and explicit. The best parts of sex.
> 
> A/N:
> 
> A. I'm absolutely delighted by the amount of kudos and kind comments that have been thrown my way, since I started this project, the ME community is the best community.
> 
> +++

Shepard didn’t sleep through the night like she wanted too. 

Instead, she dreamt of Saren Arterius, of all people. It wasn’t uncommon for the misguided turian to be a subject in her nightmares, playing out his last moments— indoctrination lifted and freewill restored, only to shoot himself under the jaw to never be controlled again.

It wasn’t the most horrific thing she saw during the war, nor was Saren the most sympathetic victim, but it never lost its shock value.

She laid in bed, sheets twisted around her nude body until the light in the room went from inky blue to a soft shade of gray, and then reluctantly got up. She was exhausted, but couldn't remember a time when she didn't feel that way.

Shepard resisted the urge to bring her pistol into the bathroom.

During her time in the Alliance, showers were quick and efficient. Even when she took over the command of the Normandy, her private shower had only so much hot water before it went icy. She was grateful to leave restrictions like that in the past.

Standing in the almost scolding stream of the sizable shower, she let the water run through her hair, and down her neck. Shepard ran her soapy hands over her face, still in awe that she felt no rough scabs or thick scars. The rest of her body was the same. She showed little damaged from the injuries she endured while fighting against such overwhelming odds.

It was bittersweet.

She cursed Cerberus.

The Illusive Man and his zealot organization would always be a part of her.

She should be dead, but survived because of the implants that the Project Lazarus had so generously blessed her with. Once again, she found herself wishing that the Council would’ve given her the task of eliminating the remaining Cerberus holdouts.

Drying off, Shepard took the enviro-suit from her supply cache. She had gone over the entire inventory, and found that everything piece of gear, and weapon was in their proper places. The enviro-suit was light, and had very little value as armor. She hoped that wouldn’t be an issue. Pulling it on felt foreign to her. It had none of the familiar weight of her much abused hard suit. The simple black and red design was about the only thing it had in common with the retired N7 combat armor.

Shepard sat on the edge of the bed while she braided her hair, and then pinned it up at the nape of her neck. It only took her hair getting caught in her helmet once, before Shepard deemed it necessary to learn a few simple styles to keep it out of the way.

Checking her gun one more time, she grabbed the breather helmet and rode the elevator down to the main lobby. A shift change had happened, and two new officers were guarding the lift entrance. Heavy foot traffic cut through the lobby, mostly turians, but Shepard was surprised see a rather diverse mix of aliens carrying on business in the building as well.

She was too distracted the night before to notice the multiple elevators against the lobby walls, or the imperial staircase that flanked the elevator that was currently being guarded; the same one that she had ridden down. The floor was polished, and Shepard wondered what the turian equivalent of marble was, because it was the only thing that she could compare the elegant material too.

It hadn’t started to rain yet, but the sky was overcast through the soaring windows. Seeing Cipritine in the morning light was eye-catching; a pretty mix of peach and coral, overlaid with heavy charcoal clouds.

“Commander Shepard. Your transport is waiting outside the main entrance.” Said one of the guards helpfully. She imagined she did look lost, standing so stationary while everybody else was in constant motion.

If the war taught her anything, it was that sparing a few moments to be still was worth it.

She nodded in thanks, stepping into the crowd.

The same driver from the night before was waiting outside, and once again, he dipped his head towards her in greeting. After stepping into the vehicle, Shepard couldn’t help but ask, “So what’s this building, exactly?” It would be a foolish tactical error to not even know what her base of operations was called.

“That's the Parliament.” said the driver.

Shepard looked at the structure with fresh eyes. 

It was little wonder that the imposing structure was both beautiful and intimidating.

“And Primarch Victus lives here?" she pressed, when no more information was volunteered from the driver.

“He’s the only official that permanently resides there, but visiting dignitaries and ambassadors are offered accommodations. It's the most heavily guarded building in Cipritine.” he answered.

"It must be, it looks like it was hardly touched by the Reapers." Shepard placed the breather helmet in-between her feet. The tinted windows would offer her the shielding she’d need against the solar radiation for now. 

The driver changed subjects without prompt. “I’ll be dropping you off at ground transport. Task Leader Vakarian will be waiting for you. You’ll ride to the site with him.”

_Damn._

“I see.” Shepard replied, deadpan.

He paused and then said. “Strange, really. You’d think he’d just send a member of his group out to rendezvous with you. But, I guess the two of you go back pretty far.”

Shepard glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He was pretty plain for a turian, with minimal colony markings. And she was starting to get the impression that this guy wasn’t just some chauffeur. He wasn't incorrect in his assumptions about her relationship with Garrus, but she found it to be annoying. He didn't know her.

“What’s your name?” she curtly asked.

“Maxtis.” he said with uncertainty.

Shepard gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Well, it’s nice to meet you. Figured, I should know at least one thing about _you_ , since you seem to know so much about me.”

The turian shrugged, but the point was made. “Word gets around, Agent Shepard.”

He didn't speak to her for the rest of the ride.

They rode far outside the city, the landscape transforming from urban to natural within a few kilometers. The land wore the scars of the Reaper invasion; deep chasms had been cut across what was once probably a lush semi-tropical environment. But there was already signs of regrowth in the most brutalized areas; gleaming, metallic flora showed their budding faces to the sky, despite the wet weather. Enough sun must have broken through the clouds on some days to promote the flowering of these tiny plants.

It stirred something in Shepard. She didn’t feel so heavy with the uncertainty of seeing Garrus for the first time since her self-imposed reclusiveness. 

Maybe it would be alright, and they could at least rekindle their friendship. And it would be enough. She had no expectation of anything else between them.

The shuttle started to descend and Shepard could see a land vehicle through the wet windows. She put her helmet on, and hopped out into a mix of mud and rain, not bothering to wave goodbye to Maxtis. Banging on the side of the bulky carrier, a sense of déjà vu took Shepard, and much like she anticipated the hatch opened. Garrus was standing in front of her, armor splattered with grime and his favorite rifle on his back. It was just like she remembered him, except there was no playfully smart-ass comment tossed to her- only a frigid, disconnected glance.

She knew that this was the only way their reunion could start, but it didn’t stop the aching in her heart. If only she would have just kept her mouth shut, and handled her (not so) inevitable death like the trained solider she was; they could have greeted each other with a hug and easy banter, and she would have been satisfied keeping her feelings buried deep, because she’d at least have her best friend.

She felt the vibration of fat rain drops hit the top of her helmet, and in that same moment something broke in Garrus cold glare. His eyes softened, slightly, and he sighed, “Shepard. You’re getting soaked. Get in this damn thing.”

Indeed, she was.

Luckily the enviro-suit was waterproof.

She sloshed into the transport and took a seat. Garrus slammed the hatch shut. The interior was similar to the M35 Mako; molded benches on either side, with a driver and passenger seat up front. Garrus sat across from her. He wasn't looking at her, and she had meant to do the same thing to him, but she hadn't seen him in such a long time. She used his moment of indifference to her advantage, and studied him. He hadn't changed much in seven months. His armor, though dirty, was clearly new. It was still blue and black, but the brass turian Military insignia held a large space on the shoulder plating. He had returned to Palaven as an unquestionable war hero. There was no doubt that Garrus had earned all the respect he was being given these days, but Shepard would have argued that he had always deserved the recognition as an exemplary solider.

The vehicle took off with a jerk, stopping her private thoughts with a sudden lurch. She almost ended up in the floor at Garrus' feet, but she grabbed the strap above her seat to stabilize herself before that mishap became reality.

He made a noise in his main set of vocal cords, that Shepard couldn't identity, but took to mean that he found her lack of preparedness to be imbecilic.

It didn't help the pressure between them. It felt like the tiny space was about to burst open any minute. She had to shake this off. “So, care to fill me in?” said Shepard in the same manner she’d asked for a status update countless times before.

Garrus jolted in his seat and asked with disbelief, “The Primarch _didn’t_ tell you?” His mandibles flared out widely. She could see his long sharp teeth.

“He said it would be apparent to me, when I got to… wherever we’re going.” That was not the sort of reaction that put her at ease. “What the hell is going on?”

Conflict flashed across his face, and Garrus seemed to struggle with some unknown internal debate. He ran a nervous hand over the scarred side of his face. “Look, Shepard. We’ll be at the site soon.”

She glared at him through her helmet, but he ignored it. They rode in strained silence for what seemed like eternity, before the carrier came to a teetering stop. Garrus walked to the hatch door, looking at Shepard with uncertainty. He yanked it open, disappeared outside and with apprehension Shepard followed. Her hand was on the grip of her gun, before she jumped out.

The site was decimated; the remains of a turian outpost that got hit hard and fast during the invasion. Even among the evidence of counter-strikes, the turians had not been able to win this back from Palaven's invading forces. Shepard judged from the distance she had traveled, that this former base was probably used as a supply route to Cipritine.

There was nothing surprising about this tactic, and it didn’t shock Shepard to see the hallowed out depot, twisted and burned as it was. What did startle her to point of gasping out loud was laying in the center of the camp— massive and intimidating, though clearly inactive was the dull black frame of a Reaper Destroyer.

Every personal interaction she experienced with these incomprehensible _things_ rushed into the forefront of her memories; the blistering heat from their weapons, the stink of decay they left in their wake, even their abominable voices, when they had dared spoke to her.

She felt sickly, hot pin pricks on the back of her neck.

She was grateful that she didn’t have breakfast, because puking in a breather helmet was not only disgusting but counterproductive to its purpose.

Once upon a time, the dead body of a Reaper would have filled her with nothing but joy and accomplishment. Now she felt faint. She hadn’t seen one since the last days of the war, outside of media clips and reports. She longed for the days when compartmentalizing sights like this was easy and natural. When had it stopped? What event had broke that particular skill apart? Shepard had a long list to choose from. 

Shepard had been backing up slowly, without even realizing she was doing it, and when she felt her back hit something strong and firm, muscle memories took over, and she smoothly pulled her heavy pistol from its holster. She rounded, but never got the chance to level her gun. Garrus caught her wrist. It seemed so small in his hand. He could probably break it, but there was nothing in his touch beyond gentle restraint. 

_Oh, shit._

He didn’t look upset, but she sure as hell was. She had drawn her weapon on him. 

The lack of control over her own memories and emotions disgusted her.

“I’d like to sit down.” She said, grimacing at how weak her voice sounded through the breather.

Garrus nodded and held her arm, leading her to a small garrison that she hadn’t taken noticed of. It was a simple, small base with features that she remembered seeing on Menae; pop-up barricades, canvas tents and a few metal enclosures. There was a smaller number of turrets though, so at least the turians felt like an empty, dead Reaper wasn’t as much as a threat as a live one.

Shepard wasn’t so sure she could agree.

He guided her into one of the larger tents, and moved her to a cot in the corner of the room. She slumped on it, and breathed slowly through her nose, easing her heart rate. Garrus leaned on a table, watching her patiently. The table had a portable terminal, munitions and gunsmithing materials on it. If Shepard had to guess, this was probably where Garrus heading his task force. These were his personal quarters.

Eventually he said, “I’m sorry, Shepard. This probably isn't what you were expecting.”

“That's an understatement. Why didn’t Victus tell me?” She felt betrayed, but Shepard had to remind herself that this wasn’t the first time that the newly appointed Primarch had kept information from her. However, something about this hurt. She liked being around the man— found his experience in warfare and leadership to be comforting. Shepard thought that just maybe, he might be more honest with her this time.

“I’m sure the Primarch had his reasons, but I would bet his intentions weren’t meant to be malicious. Maybe he wanted a genuine reaction from you, or perhaps he didn’t think it would affect you like this. I’m betting it’s the former. Did you see the salarians around the Destroyer?” asked Garrus.

She shook her head. “No.”

“Understandable. This is the situation: So officially, we’re trying to find the best solution for getting rid of the shells. Whatever they’re made out of, it's like the damn things can't biodegrade. The material is unknown. Who knows how long a shelf life those things have. A lot of them just… disintegrated when you… well, did whatever it was, you did.”

There was a question in the air, but Shepard couldn’t answer him.

She rested her head in her hands. The details of the conversation with the Catalyst was something she had only just started talking to Mordin about. This wasn’t the time, or place to talk to Garrus about any of it. Shepard didn't know if she'd ever be able to tell him about it, with the strain between them now.

“So the Primarch sent you out here to figure that out? How to remove them?” She was starting to put the pieces together.

“I’m still the resident ‘expert’ on them. But, we aren't getting very far. I reached out to some contacts on Earth and Thessia. None of us have a solution.”

He started to fidget with a scope on the table. His nerves were on edge.

“But that’s not the only problem. There are Senate members who support the idea to data-mine the damn things. Just to see if there's anything left to... learn, or save. And there's plenty of freelance scientists and weapons companies who are more than happy to offer their services, for an eventual cut of profit. Those salarians are some of the representatives of interested parties.”

“What?” She stood up, horrified. “There’s been nothing going through any of the Spectre channels about this!”

“Well, Shepard, that’s probably because it’s not illegal. _Yet_. But I think should be and will be, if Primarch Victus can get a majority vote to pass a regulatory law classifying the remaining shells as potential weapons of mass destruction. But it needs to happen quickly. We both know what can go wrong with studying this kind of technology. Every day that passes without a way to dispose of the carcasses, or a new law in place, is a day closer to another power hungry association finding a way to tap into power that they can’t control or understand.”

Shepard sneered. “And that a great time to try, with the galactic community already on its knees. Why do I get the impression that I wasn’t randomly selected to come out to Palaven.”

Garrus shrugged. “That's an interesting thought. There are plenty of unknowns. The potential for exploitation is overwhelming. But you know me… I’m a pessimist.”

She risked a smile. He didn’t see it through her helmet. Though his demeanor was still stiff, at least they were talking, even if the subject as unpleasant and strictly business.

It reminded Shepard of old times- the two of them, trying to figure out how to save the universe. If only…

Shepard remembered how brave she really was. "Garrus..." He peered up at her, at the mention of his name. "Can we-“ 

There was a rustle at the tent entrance, and a female turian strolled in. Shepard pegged her for a young adult, old enough to serve on the task force, but judging from her armor, wasn’t ranked very high. She did have an impressive shotgun strapped onto her back, and Shepard approved of the model. It was one that she had used during the war.

Garrus looked annoyed with the visitor for interpreting their conversation. “Solana, get out of here!” And he dismissed her with a wave of his hand.

“I want to meet Shepard.” She said, equally irked at his greeting.

“I’m sure you have better things to do to occupy your time— wait, I know that you do, because I assigned them to you.” Voice laced with sarcasm, Garrus was in fine form.

Shepard looked over the female turian who was challenging Garrus. Her plate coloring was a shade lighter then Garrus’ own, but she had his same bright azure eyes and they both shared matching blue colony tattoos. Shepard had seen so few female turians during the war, that she took a second to appreciate the difference between their genders. Though they were smaller, leaner and lacked the crown of spines that Garrus and all turian males shared, it was clear that the females of the species carried themselves with an air of being able to handle business. That shotgun just wasn't for show.

“Don’t be an asshole.” Snapped Solana.

Apparently, derision was a family trait.

Shepard wondered how surly the patriarch of the Vakarian house was.

Shepard decided she liked this young lady, and was happy that her broken leg had healed so nicely.

“Garrus, isn’t this your sister?”

An expression of what could only be victory passed over Solana’s features; the plates over her wide blue eyes flexed and her mandibles twitched. Shepard swore she _swaggered_ right over to her, quite happy that the former commander had acknowledged her, and that unto itself was enough to override her brother’s order to scram.

“Yes, this is Sol-“Garrus started, but was cut off by his sibling.

“Solana Vakarian.” She held her hand out to Shepard whilst introducing herself. Shepard accepted her handshake.

“It’s a pleasure, Solana.” It really was. She had watched Garrus suffer without knowing the fate of his family. Shepard had been so relieved when news came in that they had been evacuated safely. 

Solana’s mandibles widened, and her eyes twinkled. “When I heard you were coming, I just _had_ to finally meet you, but I knew my brother was going to keep you all to himself. Typical, Garrus.”

“Solana.” There was warning in his voice.

She continued, ignoring him with delighted gusto. “Look at you!” And she tapped the front visor of Shepard’s helmet. Her youthful playfulness was obnoxious, but infectious. Shepard felt her spirits lighten, just enough to be noticeable. It felt easy to smile at her. Garrus' dry sense of humor had made her feel the same way. “You’re so pale in there. What saying is it, you humans have? _Seen a ghost?_ ” She tasted the phrase. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Kid, you’re not wrong.” replied Shepard. 

“You know what you need? You need to come to the mess with me. You can take your helmet off long enough to have a drink and a bite. It'll make you feel better." Solana grabbed Shepard’s hand, dragging her towards the door. "Let's go!"

“Yes, _please_ go!” Ordered Garrus, trying to regain some his authority against Solana’s insolence. “I need to contact Primarch Victus anyway. He wanted to know when you arrived, Shepard, and-“

He was interrupted again by his younger sister, and Shepard found it terribly amusing. She had never witnessed anyone be so disrespectful to him, not without being shot. As some of Shepard's krogan allies would say, this girl had a set of quads on her.

“You’ve met Primarch Victus, Shepard? Oh, isn’t he _handsome_?” She gleefully asked, and then turned around to Garrus, like she was teasing him with some sort of joke that went right over Shepard’s head. “Don’t you think he is, Commander?”

“Well…” She almost claimed that she wouldn’t know due to the glaring difference in their two species, but Shepard certainly thought Garrus was handsome, and Primarch Victus was quite distinguished. “Yeah, I suppose he is.” And then mentally cursed herself for giving in to the gossip of this girl. Shepard looked at Garrus one more time, but he was already opening up his omni-tool, ignoring them both.

Outside, Solana fluttered around Shepard, like a lively song bird. Walking towards the canteen, Shepard spoke up in Garrus’ defense. “Solana, you should go easy on your brother. He's been through a lot.”

Without missing a beat, she replied, “Haven’t we all? But I get it. I just like to tease him. He teases me too, Shepard. Or at least he used too. When he came back, he was grimmer than he ever was, before he left Palaven.”

“War does that to us. And he was on the frontlines for a long time." Right next to her side, so loyal and true. 

And look were they stood now?

Distant like strangers.

“I don’t think it was the war. Turians are built for war. I think he missed you. Whenever we got to chat, he always mentioned you. Sometimes, he wouldn't shut up about you. The way he talked, I thought maybe you two were…” Solana paused. “Best friends.” She finished, shrewdly. It didn't seem like that was what she really wanted to say.

“We were— are.” muttered Shepard. It sounded pitiful to her ears.

Solana was too clever to miss Shepard’s slip up. “Then why did it take you so long to visit him?”

“It’s complicated. Sometimes it’s difficult to communicate with the people we care about.” It was the best answer she could offer, and hoped it would be enough. This was a line of questioning that she didn’t want to explore with Garrus’ little sister.

“Oh, I know it." Solana grumbled. "I was pissed at him, for so long. That was a very respectable, well-paying position he just threw away on the Citadel. I thought he was just off _dicking_ around after he quit his job at C-Sec. Maybe screwing around with some woman, or women..." Solana trailed off, clearly feeling torn. “Turns out he was you. Saving the whole galaxy. I guess you were the only woman he was shacking up with.”

"Your brother and I weren't _shacking up_ , Solana." scolded Shepard. Maybe that word had a different definition to turians, but Shepard doubted it.

They entered the mess hall. “I think we have some levo-specific rations over here.” Said Solana, and she made her way to a supply shelf, digging out a military grade protein bar, and drink for Shepard. They sat together at a table, and Shepard took her helmet off. The air felt good, and the smell of fresh damp earth permeated through the thin walls of the mess tent.

Solana started to break off pieces of her own dry, condensed bar. “So… did Maxtis drive you out here?” She asked between nibbles.

Shepard nodded, taking a small bite of food. It tasted awful. “He did.”

Solana perked up. “That’s one of my boyfriends, isn’t he the _sweetest_?”

Shepard gagged on the taste of the protein drink; it was a disgusting artificial chocolate flavor. It's texture was thick and chalky. She was also surprised by Solana’s comment. “ _One_ of your boyfriends?” Shepard didn't find Maxtis to be sweet. He was flighty, nosy and rude, in her opinion.

“Yeah, and you see Caeso over there? He’s also mine.” She waved to a turian who was passing through. He returned her greeting, but rushed out. “He’s running late to his patrol.” Solana said knowingly.

Shepard was surprised with how casual she was talking about this. “You’re screwing around with two guys?”

“I am!” She exclaimed proudly. “We all have a good thing going on. But... I think Garrus wants to suspend Caeso because we’re too loud at night. And like I said, he's always late to his assignments. I told him he needs to get his shit together." Solana dangerously narrowed her eyes, but finished with a thoughtful voice. "I wish I could see Maxtis more. But with his job in transport, he’s kept busy.”

It was now clear where Maxtis was getting his gossip, and second hand information about Shepard from. But she choose not to bring it up to Solana, still more interested in learning about this cultural difference that was foreign to her.

“So they know about each other? And they’re OK with it?” Skepticism punctuated each word.

“Of course! Why wouldn’t they-“ Realization dawned on the turian’s face and she began to laugh.

“Oh. I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you!” She said reassuringly. Shepard didn't buy it. She very much felt like she was being mocked. “Garrus did mention that humans were weird about sex and relationships, but I thought he was exaggerating.”

“I don't think we're weird about any of that.” Shepard wondered how the conversation ended up on this subject. She should have stayed in the tent with Garrus, talking business, and not been dragged away by his charming sibling.

Solana’s laughter finally died down. “He said humans were a strictly monogamous species.”

“Firstly- wait what? You’re telling me that turians aren’t monogamous?” That couldn’t be right, she had seen turians with their bondmates at the Citadel in the past.

“We are, if we want to be. It’s not like that’s the only option there is." Solana explained. "It’s not really your fault, humans are still new to the galactic community. Don’t get me wrong, humans have done some pretty amazing things— I mean look at you! It’s just, your people have some pretty… conservative views in regards to relationship structures.” Solana finished with a giggled.

This subject was making Shepard uncomfortable, though she couldn't place the reason why.

“I should go.” She said, getting up from the table. “It was nice talking to you, Solana.”

“Oh, OK.” She seemed disappointed that Shepard was leaving. “You’ll come back out here, won’t you?” Solana asked hopefully.

“I’m sure I’ll have too. Garrus and I have a lot shit to figure out.”

“I bet.” Her comment was cheerfully laced with double-meaning. “See you around, Shepard!”

She pulled her helmet back on and left the canteen.

Shepard had intended to go directly back to Garrus’ tent, but the drive to overcome her early reaction to the Destroyer moved her muddy boots to where it laid in the sludge. With uneasiness she approached it. She felt bile threaten her throat, but swallowed it down. This was ridiculous. She hadn’t stopped a galactic invasion to be intimidated by her own emotions. She forced her hand upon one of the broken legs, and she imagined it firing back to life under her touch.

It didn’t stir, and was cold enough to feel through her gloves. 

“It’s dead, Shepard. It’s been dead for seven months.” Garrus’ smooth voice was behind her. The energy that Solana’s interruption had displaced, returned, settling heavily between them.

If she could face this kind of evil, then she could clear the air.

She turned to him, strumming her fingers against her thigh. “Do you think we could talk later?" She paused, and then elaborated. "In private. About what happened.”

He was silent for a moment, before softly replying, “Yeah. We really need too.”

Shepard sighed, “I know."

She rubbed her hands together, trying to erase the lingering feeling of the frigid metal on her fingertips. "I’m heading back to the Parliament. I need to start figuring out how to approach this issue.”

“I’ll come by tonight.” Garrus muttered. He was looking up to the cloudy, dark sky.

She nodded. "My room is on the-"

"I know what suite you're staying in." He suddenly snapped.

He turned back to the garrison, leaving her with the Destroyer.

+++

There was a decontamination chamber on the ground level of the Parliament, Shepard quickly found out when she tried taking the elevator up to her room. The guard from earlier led her through a side corridor to reach it, and gave her the access codes to use it at her discretion. Apparently tracking filth through government buildings was a universal taboo.

As soon as she walked into her suite, Shepard stripped the enviro-suit, and took another shower. The damp weather combined with seeing the lifeless Reaper had left her feeling disgusting. She watched the water spin down the drain between her feet. 

After drying herself, she flopped into bed, intending to take small nap before setting herself to work.

It was dusk when she awoke.

Her suite consisted of two spacious rooms; a master bedroom complete with a full bathroom, and a living room with a comfortable couch and table. A door separated each side. Slate gray, and black was the standard color scheme of her lodgings. Windows dominated the wall across from the entrance to the room. She pulled open the sheer white curtains, admiring the city view, and then settled on the couch to start her progress report.

She was struggling with who to contact first, when a sharp knock at the door interpreted her thoughts.

“It’s Garrus.” His voice was cold in her auditory implant. 

She mentally prepared herself, before bringing up her omni-tool, accessing the door’s locking mechanism. “Door’s open.” She answered.

He strolled in, owning the environment with a confidence that Shepard was only beginning to see at the end of war. He was still wearing his blue and black heavy armor from the project site.

Garrus must have been made to step through the decontamination chamber too, because his armor was missing the caked on muck from early.

“Nice place.” He commented nonchalantly, taking the suite in. He seemed to be looking at everything but her.

“I wanted to stay on my ship.” Shepard replied, fingers starting to hit the keys of the terminal. If that’s how he was going to play it, then so could she. She settled on contacting Victus first, and pulled his name up from her list of contacts. She had a bone to pick with him.

“I bet you did. You know, I’m surprised you can type that fast. I had assumed all your fingers were still broken. It's not like you wrote anything to me, after all this time. Did you even read any of my messages, or did you just delete them?” His words had taken cruel edge.

So that’s how this conversation was going to be.

No more playing nice because they were out in the field, Garrus was in the mood to fire verbal bullets at her. His aim was always true, and he never missed.

Shepard huffed, and dismissed the holo-terminal with more force then she meant. She stood and advanced towards Garrus. He finally glanced at her, arms crossed over his broad chest. Shepard choose to place her own hands on her hips, a stance she knew made her look bigger, and got the best results for when she was about to rip someone apart for insubordination. 

She hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

“Look, I know you’re pissed, but you don’t need to talk to me like that.” She didn’t want to argue with him, but wouldn’t tolerate disrespect.

He scoffed. "I have every right to be pissed. And it's an honest question, Shepard. Why can't you answer it?"

Shepard remembered a time that he would have never challenged her in a way like this, but that was years ago.

"Of course, I read them." she chided. "I've kept them all."

After she was able to access her terminal again from within the hospital, her inbox had been flooded with messages from, well, just about everyone she ever had an interaction with, positive or otherwise. A majority of them had been tidings of gratitude, still some were laced with blame.

Garrus' correspondences had ran the gambit of concern, hope, confusion, betrayal and eventually anger.

Shepard swore, while she sat broken in that bed, she _would_ write him back, or call him, as soon as she could explain herself in a reasonably way. But she never found the right words, and eventually it was easier to fall into the routine and distraction of rehabilitation.

"I read them a lot, actually." She confessed.

He said nothing, but kept watching her, his cerulean eyes darting faintly around her defiant face. After a moment, with no hesitation, he reached out and touched her onyx colored hair. Garrus slowly pulled a few smooth strands through his fingers, never letting it catch on his gloves. He simply let it fall through his digits.

His face betrayed nothing, he still looked impassioned. But his touch was almost that of adoration, if Shepard had to guess. It was a startling juxtaposition. Garrus' callous words, but tender gesture. Shepard kept her own visage steady; she didn’t make a career out of fighting monsters without being able to keep a poker face. Internally he had caught her by surprise. She would of never expected something like this from him. When had Garrus become so intrepid?

It dawned on Shepard, that she found his touch alluring.

And, while Shepard was quite sure of her feelings for the turian, she hadn’t put much thought into what sex with him might be like. The stress of the war, had all but killed that drive in her. But now, curiosity hit her like a bullet in the back. She felt a pleasant warmth pulse in her core.

She wanted him to stop.

She wanted him to continue.

“What are you doing?” she asked softly.

Garrus regarded her for a second, and then let his hand drop to his side. 

Shepard tried not to feel disappointed by the loss of contact.

“I hadn’t realized it was so long now.” He faintly said. She almost didn’t catch his comment. “Shepard, I wish you knew how much I've missed you."

She did know, because she had been living with his absence too. Shepard held her tongue, however, and let him continue.

"But I’m so _frustrated_ with you. Do you have any idea how terrible it was? Searching for you through all that _destruction_? It was the blood— your blood and pieces of your broken armor. I followed it, and that’s how I found you.”

Right to the point.

Shepard always admired that trait in him.

But she hadn’t been aware of _how_ her body had been found; just that Garrus had been the one to find it. She only knew that because his voice had rung out in her own murky memories of the event.

Shame gripped her.

“I…” 

He interrupted her. “Liara and Tali were inconsolable, after they saw what was left of you. They were convinced they were looking at a corpse.” He paused, and fixed her an unreadable look. “We all did.”

He rubbed a hand over his face and shook his head. Shepard recognized his body language. It was the same way she coped with a particularly bad memory. Garrus walked past her, close enough that she could smell him; gun oil, antibacterial gel and petrichor.

“I can still feel your dead-weight in my arms, if I think about it too long. And I’ve thought about it a lot.” He muttered sorrowfully. “Almost everyday since it happened.”

The closest Shepard had come to crying in recent years, was watching Thane Krios take his final breathes in a small, impersonal hospital room, while she held his son's hand. But, the knowledge that Thane was going to be able to see his wife again, gave her enough comfort to keep the tears at bay.

She had no small comfort to hold them in place, this time. It pained her to see Garrus so crestfallen, knowing she was the reason for it.

She choked back tears, hoping they wouldn't bleed into her voice. “Garrus… I’m so sorry.”

“Are you, though?” He snapped. His back was to her; he didn't see her wipe her eyes. “Is that anyway to treat the man who saved your life? Who’s been with you since the beginning? Who went to hell with you?

He didn’t need to elaborate for Shepard to know to what treatment he was referring too. The act of ignoring his attempts at communication had deeply hurt him. And she knew it would, but had done it anyway. She wanted to reach out and comfort him, but dreaded the potential rejection. Dreaded the fact still, that if he reciprocated the comfort, she would never stop weeping in his arms.

Fear had never affected any of her decisions or actions during the Reaper invasion, but postwar had left her feeling like her foundations were crumbling under foot. Was so much of her identity really wrapped up in being a soldier and commander that without some threat to combat, she had no traction? Fear is why she and Garrus were in this situation.

“I mean it, Garrus. It was wrong of me to be so inconsiderate. I owe a lot to you. Indifference, isn’t one of things.” And she placed her hand on his arm, just to prove to herself that she could. Rejection be damned, she needed him to stop hurting. Shepard looked up to his profile. She was on his scarred side. It hadn’t healed as neatly as another injury may have, but burns rarely did. His cobalt colony tattoos would be forever flawed.

“So why did you think it was acceptable?” he countered.

Her hand slide off his armor. “It wasn’t. I knew it wasn’t.”

He inhaled deeply, like he was bracing himself for a blow, before he asked his next question. 

“Why did you tell me you loved me?”

It was only a matter of time before that came up, and ultimately was the reason for her distance.

She had been ashamed of the raw vulnerably in her confession to Garrus. She was supposed to be the one who had the ability to control missions, and ally actions through cold logic. She had failed him at the worst possible moment. The last battle of the war to decide the fate of the galaxy was _not_ the place to tell Garrus (the best friend she had, or would ever have) that she was in love with him.

Shepard considered her words. She had played out this conversation over a hundred times in her mind. Honesty would be the only thing that could move it in a positive direction.

“I said it, because I wasn’t anticipating living much more past that moment. And so, I wasn’t thinking about the repercussions. In that moment, I let my emotions take over. I shouldn't have said anything. It was stupid of me. It was... ultimately a deathbed confession." Shepard explained mournfully. " I'm sorry, I burdened you with it."

The truth was rarely pretty.

Garrus turned sharply and gawked at her.

“Burdened me? No, that's not- What you mean, you didn’t anticipate _surviving_?" His initial expression faded from shock to fury. "Throughout the entire war, that’s all you _ever_ encouraged everyone to focus on. You preached endurance! And now you’re telling me, that you weren’t even following your own advice. That’s not what I expected from you. How hypocritical, Shepard! How-" He hissed the next word. "Selfish."

The second it left his mouth, Shepard felt the sharp edge of hostility cut through her.

He was missing the point.

Who was _he_ to be so critical of her thinking? 

How dare Garrus choose this moment be so righteous?

And if any more tears were threatening to fall down her cheeks, they dried up faster then she could reload a gun.

She scowled at him, and spat, “When have I ever had the _luxury_ of being selfish, Garrus?”

“Shepard-“ He said her name with heat in voice.

She held her hand up, stopping him.

“Shut up! I was being realistic. Being a good leader means you boost the morale of your team, even if the odds of survival are slim. And before you assume anything, I meant every encouraging word I ever said. To you, or anyone else.” He opened his mouth to say something else, but Shepard cut him off again.

“You knew the odds weren't in our favor. Deep down, you expected it to be a one way mission too. How many times could we bounce back from supposed suicide missions, before one of them really become our last trip?" He shot her a nasty look, still she continued. He had opened this floodgate, he would have to ride the riptide.

"Let's think about it. Why did you ask me to help you find Sidonis, just so you could put a bullet through his head? Why did you want to break one hundred and thirty-seven regulation codes, just so we could have a shooting contest on top of the Presidium? It was because you wanted to tie up loose ends, and you knew that you _just_ might not survive this either. So you can get out of my room, if you're going to stand there and pass judgment on me. I don't need that shit.”

Shepard didn't take pleasure in his stunned expression.

She had hurt him enough already.

Shepard stormed past him anyway, took a seat on the couch and reopened her computer. There was work to be done.

When she heard the ceramic plating of his armor move together, and she assumed he taking her advice to heart and leaving. It was probably for the best. Maybe, neither of them were ready for this talk.

Surprisingly, the cushion next to her dipped under his weight. 

She could feel his body heat, through her thin tee shirt. Even at this distance; it was naturally higher than her own.

She sighed. “Garrus, I think we’re done talking for now.”

The bare emotions between them was leaving her spent, and prone to spitting hurtful comments.

She felt him staring at her. She always could, whether from across the Normandy, or across a ruined frontline.

His gaze had a weight that was perfectly unique to his energy.

“No, I didn’t come here tonight for us to end up like this, Shepard.” He stated.

Such self-assurance could guarantee victory, or death on the battlefield.

It was quite unimpressive to her. “Then what did you come here for? An apology? I already gave you one, and meant it. I’m sorry that I didn’t reach out to you, after I got out of the hospital. I’m sorry that because of that, I wasn’t a better friend to you. And I’m sorry that I told you that I loved you…”

Shepard saw him wince, like she had struck him.

It hurt her to say it too.

“But let me make this clear, one more time, you’re not going to call me selfish— like I've never sacrificed anything! I gave up _everything_ to assure that we'd all have a future. I was prepared to die for it. So I'll ask again, what did you come here for, Garrus?” she repeated.

His scanner did nothing to hide the fact that his eyes widened. His mandibles wavered.

Silence had rarely seemed so deafening.

He seemed to struggle for something to say, and when he finally did, the words were excruciating in their familiarity.

Quietly, he said, “Shepard, your friendship meant everything to me. It was all I had, at the very end. I’d give anything to have it back."

Those same words echoed countless times in Shepard during this foolish pause in their relationship.

There was a strange comfort in knowing he felt the same way.

"I want you to be honest with me. What did I do, to make you push me away like this?” Garrus asked.

God, she simply couldn't stay mad at him anymore, not when he had somehow rationalized that this was his fault.

She turned to him and finally met his eyes.

"You didn't do anything. And, I was honest with you. That was the issue." She leaned forward. Her hair fell around her face like a veil. “I want to move past this, if you want that too. I don't want to fight with you anymore. Or hurt you. I fucked up. Will you accept my apology?”

They had simply been through too much together, and she wasn't so prideful that she couldn't humble herself a bit, towards the one person she trusted more than anybody else. Shepard just wished he could understand the burdens that were thrown upon her— ones she never asked for, but was deemed strong enough to bare.

Would he be like so many others, that could only view her as _Commander_ , never knowing who she was beyond that label? Sometimes she wondered if he even knew what her first name was. It was an unfair thought, because surely he did. But why else would he have placed such impractical expectations on her? He had been a solider, and an officer of C-sec; surely he knew the risks of service and war.

But, he had been one of the only stable elements in her life for so long. Even arguing with him was better than the awful reality that Shepard had imposed upon herself while she wallowed in her own misery and insecurities. 

His body relaxed with a tension that was unnoticeable until Shepard saw it disperse. 

“You didn't fuck up, Shepard. I want-” She watched him move his hand up to her hair again. It fell short. He let it rest in the space between their bodies on the couch instead. "Of course, I'll accept your apology. And I know you're not selfish. You're the most generous person I've ever met. Which is ironic, because you're also the most ruthless solider I've ever met." he mused. "You're a very... unique woman."

Sweet relief washed over Shepard.

Given the circumstances, this was as close to perfect as she could hope for.

"Unique? Well, I've been called worse."

It felt good to smile at his comment.

"Oh, I've heard."

It was even better to have him smile, in his strange turian way, at her.

End Chapter Two


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: Foundations: Chapter Three
> 
> Author: Shudder Shock (http://afterlife-club.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Pairings: Garrus Vakarian/Female Shepard/Adrien Victus
> 
> Summary: After the war, Shepard is sent to Palaven by the Council. There, amongst facing the repercussions of the past, and political entanglement of the present, she may find a solid foundation for the future.
> 
> Rating: Mature, consensual and explicit. The best parts of sex.
> 
> A/N:
> 
> A. I have a pretty clear idea of how the rest of this story will be panning out now, and revised chapter one to reflect the character development I’m aiming for, if you’re interested.
> 
> B. The _good_ stuff starts in the next chapter.  >:3
> 
> +++

Garrus sat a while longer with Shepard, and they kept their topics of conversation as light as possible. He didn’t try to touch her again, but his hand didn’t stray from its position next to her leg. If the circumstances would have been different, she would have almost made the assumption that he was daring her to hold it. But Shepard knew that was more than likely, wishful thinking on her part. After all, Garrus had given no indicator to what his own feelings were for her, beyond that he wanted to repair their long-standing friendship. 

He had only wanted to know _why_ she told him that she loved him, never revealing the reason for his inquiry. 

Shepard didn’t feel like she had the right to press him for any sort of admission. She could barely handle her own emotions; she was in no position to manage any more of his, or anyone else. The reality of the situation was that he probably wasn’t interested in pursuing anything romantic with her.

It stung, but she had already prepared herself for that possibility.

It’s not like humans and turians had the best relations with each other. The First Contact War was still relatively fresh— only about thirty-five years had passed since Relay 314 had been reactivated. Granted, Garrus wouldn’t have fought in it.

Though, Primarch Victus certainly did.

Her thoughts lingered on Victus.

He was going to get an earful at the next available opportunity.

Garrus brought up his omni-tool, checking the time. It wasn’t terribly late, but she guessed that he was probably needed back at his garrison. Sure enough, he stood to leave, though reluctantly. “I should get going.” The warm space he had occupied filled with the brisk air of the temperature regulators. 

Shepard nodded. “You have a lot of important responsibilities these days. I’m glad we could talk.” She followed him to the door. He hovered in front of it, waiting for her to catch up to him. 

“Me too, Shepard.” He said quietly. “I hope it’s not another seven months, before we can catch up again.”

He was testing her with his joke; prodding her just a bit to see how she would react. Garrus was always good for that, and it was comforting to find that they could fall back into their normal conversation patterns with ease. Shepard smiled at his humor; he really had forgiven her.

“I promise that it won’t be.” She reassured him. “I’ll at least have to finish this assignment before I go ghost on you again.” Now it was her turn.

“If I have to track you down after this is finished, you’re not going to like it.” He warned. “Now, will you undo the lock on your door?” He motioned to the access pad on the wall. 

She sealed it after he had arrived. Shepard locked everything behind her these days. If she was accused of paranoia, so be it. It never hurt to be vigilant. 

She leaned over, tapping in her private code. Garrus didn’t bother moving out of her way; she practically had to press her body up against his, just to get at the right angle to hit the numerical pad. She didn’t risk looking at him, but saw his mandibles fluctuate out of the corner of her eye. She could feel his gaze again too— it traced a heavy line from the side of her face down to her neck. 

That long dormant feeling of arousal, hinted itself between her thighs.

His earthy scent assaulted her olfactory system one more time, before she stepped back. He appeared to be inhaling deeply right as she did so.

“Alright, Shepard. We’ll talk soon.” The words rushed out of his mouth, before he did an abrupt about-face, leaving her alone and stunned in the suite. Garrus had rushed off with the determination of a man on a mission. He hadn’t seemed to be in a hurry earlier in the evening, but she really had no idea what demands his job made.

Only her own, Shepard reminded herself, sitting back down in front of her computer. She readied herself to begin a long, scathing message to Primarch Victus, but was interrupted by the man himself. The auditory implant softly alerted her to an incoming call, and his stormy voice vibrated through her hearing mechanism. “Please, come up and see me.” He requested.

Though Shepard hated sitting in front on a computer, she huffed out a breath of annoyance.

Her life, if anything, was one full of disturbances. But at least this wasn’t the Normandy— a place where she couldn’t even sneak into the mess hall, to try to make a sandwich, without somebody bombarding her with requests, or questions, or confessions. 

She rode the elevator up one floor, and found him sitting at his desk. Victus stood as she approached, leaving the desk behind, and offered his hand to her. As irked as she was with him, Shepard didn’t even think twice about offering up her own hand back in greeting. And once again, he didn’t shake it, but held it instead. She had expected that, but not the way he pulled her to him. 

She felt her breath quicken, and for some reason, her cheeks grew warm. Shepard could have broken away from Victus, but it wasn’t meant to be a threatening, or even aggressive move. She knew that. It seemed like he just wanted to pull her into his personal space. Shepard instinctively placed her free hand on her chest, providing a point of baring between the two of them. His clothing was starched and layered, but not so thick that she couldn’t feel innate differences in their anatomy.

It went beyond simple male, or female. Just like her and Garrus, she and Primarch Victus were two very different species.

It was discouraging. 

She looked up at him, questioningly. His ember eyes bore into hers, as he spoke. “I know you’re unhappy with the lack of intel I gave you, concerning the Destroyer. It may have seemed cruel, but you can comprehend the reality of the situation, as I’m sure Garrus has disclosed to you. Time is of the essence. I needed to light fire in you.”

She narrowed her eyes at his remark. “To be perfectly fair, I lived with that particular reality for three years.” Shepard said tersely. “Don’t treat me like I’m stupid.”

Shepard should have yanked her hand out of his, but let Victus continue to cradle it. She liked the way her fingers felt draped over his own. It really shouldn’t have mattered to Shepard, but his affectionate gesture was Victus’ only saving grace.

He looked taken aback, as much as turian facial expressions could allow. “Shepard. That was _not_ what my intentions were.” Victus said, voice aghast. “I don’t believe you’re stupid at all.”

She ignored his reaction, and continued dryly. “You sure could have been more forth coming, it would have saved me from tripping over my own two feet, and damn near pointing a gun at my best friend.” 

Victus had the nerve to appear indignant. Shepard could relate; her actions weren’t ones that got criticized often, either. But if Victus had wanted to light fire under her, he had succeeded. Shepard wasn’t one to be trifled with. However, she knew she would immediately regret what she said next, but let the words flow out of her mouth anyway. “This isn’t the first time you’ve done something like this to me.” 

It was not how she wanted to bring up his deceased son. The familiar hint of guilt snagged at the edge of her heart, as he dropped her hand out of his. It was a relief, and yet, Shepard wanted to reach out for it again. Her fingers felt so dainty in his alien grasp. 

Victus bristled, turning away from her. He sat back down at his desk. Shepard followed his example; there was a chair on the other side. At least there was a slab of metal providing separation, and Shepard didn’t have to absorb so much of the power struggle that was currently playing out between the two of them. Primarch Victus was an intense opponent. 

But Shepard would have never risen to where she was, if she'd backed down to every authority figure who wanted to test her. Staring into Victus’ eyes was like looking into a pyre; smoldering and vivid. Still, she didn’t break her eye contact against his own. 

Victus threaded his fingers together, resting them on surface of his desk.

They were having a bona fide staring contest; a battle of wills.

After a moment, he spoke. “I already explained to you, why I did that.”

Shepard understood the need for discretion in regards to Tarquin Victus’ mission in the Kelphic Valley on Tuchanka. Both father and son had paid dearly for it.

This wasn’t a concession. 

He continued to stare into her tawny eyes. 

But it was enough for Shepard’s reply to be much gentler. “And you’re trying to explain this away, too.” She rubbed the bridge of her nose and sighed, letting the real reason for her irritation be known. “I just wish you could trust me more. I really am your ally, Primarch Victus.” Shepard’s tone was insistent, because it was true. Hadn’t she proved that to him during his stay on the Normandy?

He raised one of his brow plates. “Just an ally, Shepard?” His statement gave her pause. He almost sounded… seductive. “No… personally, I’ve always considered you to be my friend.”

Shepard had been proclaimed _friend_ by many strange and outstanding souls in her relatively short life, but hearing Primarch Victus say it made her practically beam.

Distantly, she remembered the first time Garrus had deemed her as such. 

“I appreciate it, and that’s how I feel about you, too.” One of his mandibles twitched, just so. “So, let’s just try to have full disclosure with each other, from now on.”

“Agreed. Now that we’ve cleared the air…” he trailed off.

Shepard was grateful that Victus was moving the conversation away from anything else that required emotion, rather than trained focus. She was quite ready to put all her feelings to bed. She hadn’t felt her mental facilities be pulled in so many different directions in a long time. She had expected it with Garrus, but not Victus. She filed that away to be analyzed at an unspecific time and date. Maybe, next time she spoke to Mordin.

Maybe, never. 

He stalled for a moment, before asking with apprehension, “Shepard, do you think that any amount of information, or data can be gleaned from that terrible thing? I want your personal opinion.” 

He was candid with this question, and she understood why. It didn’t bother her. Her experience with the Reapers was unprecedented. But she hated hearing the trepidation in his flanging voice. Shepard wished she was a better liar, but it had never been her style. “I don’t know. I wish I did, Primarch.”

He scoffed, in what she assumed was his reaction to her disappointing answer. 

“Stop calling me _that_.” He demanded. The rise of one of her dark, arched eyebrows was a completely unconscious move. Victus was so annoyed all of a sudden, but Shepard got the impression that it wasn’t really directed at her. 

She recalled seeing him for the first time of Menae; confident general, wearing a battered, glowing combat armor, surrounded by loyal soldiers. Victus had been in his element; she didn't needed him to tell her that military service ran in his blood, and was beaten into his bones. He carried himself with the confidence of a strategic master. If she had been one of his recruits, she would have followed his command without question. 

Garrus certainly was.

Victus had been prepared to die for the cause, just like Shepard was. Nothing could inspire devotion like leading through example. Her integrity demanded it, and it had paid off in spades. 

And then, she delivered the news that he was now the Primarch of Palaven. She could remember his shocked expression, and the way he put his hand on her shoulder to glide past her, staring awe-struck at the burning silver world that hung in the starlit sky above them.

Victus hadn’t been rude to her, but it was clear that he wasn’t thrilled about his promotion. His reluctance to leave Manae had all but confirmed that. Shepard had to basically convince him that he _needed_ to do this, because if he refused, he wasn’t just dooming Palaven, but the entire galaxy. 

And now, he sat across from her at a desk that was meant for politicians (a type of person he had adamantly claimed to despise) wearing an aristocratic suit of burgundy and black. Shepard noted that he wore it well. But if he had his way, would have preferred to be back in his dark armor.

Probably, would have preferred to be called General, versus Primarch.

Not wanting to risk that assumption, she asked. “What do you want me to call you, then?” 

He leaned forward, just a fraction, before boldly stating, “I want you to call me Adrien.” 

Her cheeks felt hot, for the second time since she entered his office tonight. Shepard hadn’t expected that at all. It seemed ridiculous, but Shepard came from a world in which first names were damn near prohibited, and saved for intimate encounters. He came from that very same sort of infrastructure. He certainly had a grasp on how his invitation could be interpreted. 

But hadn’t she wanted him to refer to her in the exact same way?

Shepard wanted him to taste her name: _Jane_. Is that what he wanted too? Or, was she just looking too deeply into his request, projecting her own misplaced desires for normalcy unto him? Was he expecting her to give him similar permission, and if so, should she grant it? And why did he have to keep gazing at her with his carmine eyes?

_Oh, I need to get out of here._

There was an ignition point burning between the two of them, and Shepard felt like all it would take was a single spark to start an inferno that would consume them. She couldn’t let that happen, no matter how nice it might feel to _burn_ with him. 

She didn’t understand why this combustible pressure was pluming in-between them, but she needed to stomp it out.

Shepard knew what she needed to do: insist that it would be unprofessional. It was a straightforward and politically correct solution. Victus would respect that. 

And yet, weren’t they friends?

She never referred to any of her closet companions by their formal statures, and she was the only one that ever got religiously called by her last name. All Shepard knew was that she had successfully worked herself up over loosely pieced together presumptions, and Victus was still peering at her from across his desk. 

“Adrien.” It had a nice mouthfeel. Classically dignified. “Sure, I have no problem with that.”

And it wasn’t quite a lie, more of a half-truth, so she didn’t stubble over the words. In fact they came out sounding most agreeable. 

However, Shepard decided that it was time to excuse herself, and rose out of the chair. Walking towards the door, she said, “I’ve got quite a bit of work to do. Hopefully, I can pass some information your way soon.”

She heard the rustle of his clothing and the weight of his footsteps echoed closely behind her. She turned, to see him regarding her with an ambiguous look. Turian faces really were difficult to read. Shepard had noticed during her conversations with Garrus, and more recently Adrien— that every so often she could faintly hear a low timbre coming from their throats. She knew that turian subvocals carried a vast amount of expression, and potential social cues in their vibrations, but little good that did her. 

All her human ears heard was humming. She had no clue what any of the inflections meant. 

“Do you have any leads that can assist us?” he asked. It was the loaded question, and the only topic she had expected to talk about during this meeting (minus the tongue-lashing she owed him). How wrong she had been. 

“A few. I’m pretty good at making impossible things happen.” Shepard wasn’t gloating. It was just a talent she was born with, and excelled at. She was naturally persuasive, and even charming at times. And if that ploy failed, coercion worked too.

“You’re also very good at blowing things up.” Crossing his arms across his chest, Adrien tossed the jovial comment at her. Her reputation for destruction was, at times, overstated, but it was a useful tool. Rigging explosives was an acceptable solution to many of the unsavory encounters she had experienced in the Alliance. Even more so as a Spectre. 

He was noticeably playful. It was refreshing to hear him be humorous. Did she imagine the night’s earlier tension? Everything seemed fine now. Shepard grinned, held her hands out, and lightheartedly asked, “Do you want me to blow up anything while I’m here?” 

He tilted his shoulders, mandibles flared out widely. He was clearly amused with the suggestion. 

“Oh. Don’t incite me to answer that.” If she hadn’t known any better, she would have seriously thought he was weighing out her offer. 

She guffawed. “I’m sorry. I’ll try not to tempt you again.”

He jut one of his hips out, before leaning down to put his face even with hers. A brow plate twitched upward. “Shepard, that’s a promise you _really_ can’t keep.” He replied, voice low and thick with suggestion. 

Shepard stepped back, heart racing. 

He was very close to her. 

“I should go.”

The door hissed open, and Shepard instantly felt cooler leaving the office, and Adrien, behind. 

+++

Shepard found herself pacing in her luxurious suite, nervous energy driving her feet onward. She didn’t know why she felt the way she did, but blaming both Garrus and Adrien for her agitated state seemed justified. They had both taxed her for very different reasons. And it wasn’t as if Shepard couldn’t handle stress; her mental strength had been used like a crutch by her squad mates. Her offered support had never broken under their weight.

But, Shepard felt stretched so thin recently. 

She wanted someone to lean on; sacrilegious as it was. 

The walls of her room seemed to constrict around her, and she needed to be out of this space, out of this building, and before her anxious strides scored a trail in the expensive flooring. She didn’t even realize that she was outside until a gentle, refreshing mist of rain grazed her face. It quelled some of the dizziness in her head.

Driven by the need to simply move, Shepard picked a random direction, and merged into the nightlife of Cipritine. She breezed past the denizens of the city, with no destination in mind, until her nose picked up the appetizing smell of savory cuisine. She hadn’t eaten since the morning, and gritty protein supplements hardly counted as food. They provided energy, with little other satisfaction. 

Shepard’s meal with Solana had long since run its course. 

She followed the aroma until the source was found; a brightly lit, noodle stand. It was a plain little thing, with an awning to provide cover from the weather, and a few stools for the customers who didn’t want their meals to go. There were carry-out containers lined up on the counter, awaiting pick up.

Shepard was able to scoot right into one of the seats, feet dangling off the ground. The seats were meant for turians. She heard the sounds of cooking, and two voices laughing from behind a curtain, before a young female turian swept it aside. She had some of the most garish coloring Shepard had ever seen; black plates, flashy fuchsia tattoos and bright aquamarine eyes. Her talons matched the color of her clan markings; Shepard assumed she had painted them. Even the apron tied around her diminutive waist complimented her coloring, with a kitschy floral mix of hot pink, and bright blue. Still, there was something sort of adorable about her rebellious appearance.

“Pick up, or dine in?” she asked in a high-pitched, kittenish voice. 

“Dine in. What’s good?” Shepard said, resting her elbows on the counter. 

“Everything we serve is guaranteed to make your tummy _tingle_ with happiness!” she exclaimed with enthusiasm. She was animated, and spoke very fast. “Raman, pho, pad thai, yakisobe! I could go on!” An approaching customer walked up to the booth, and the turian girl handed one of the take-out containers to them. She turned back to Shepard. “What’re you in the mood for? And, don’t worry, we can make anything levo-agreeable!”

Shepard decided on her meal choice, and then jumped when the turian suddenly screamed her order back to the kitchen. A cantankerous male human voice yelled back, “It’s made of cloth, not steel! I can hear our customers just fine through the curtain, Charis!”

The turian—Charis ignored him. “It’ll be out in about ten minutes.” she sweetly informed Shepard.

Shepard paid, then spun around on the stool, leaned back on the counter, and sipped her beer. 

She didn’t like having her back exposed, and this strip of Cipertine was worth observing. It was dark and tight, with narrow alleyways, neon advertisements and crowded dive bars. It was nothing like the clean, polished Parliament, with its achromatic color-schemes, glass panes and spacious rooms. Yet, she could see the tall building looming in the distance.

And, Shepard just knew that Adrien was on the top floor, looking down upon the capital, mind full of melancholy and worrisome thoughts. She didn’t want him to be alone. 

It wasn’t hard to then imagine, that just beyond the city, was the garrison where Garrus was currently working— stressfully rolling a mountable scope in his hand, or obsessively calibrating his rifle to rigorous precision. Shepard wished he was here now, sitting next to her at this tiny noodle shack. 

And above them all, peeking through the clouds, was Palaven’s largest moon, Menae. 

It was almost full tonight. 

Menae should have represented the beginning of the end for Shepard. Yet, as she gazed up at the bright satellite, Shepard couldn’t shake the feeling that it was the starting place for some undefined moment in her life.

A gentle tap on her shoulder interpreted her somber thoughts. It wasn’t Charis, but a good-looking human man with dark eyes and a strong nose. His thick auburn hair was pushed out of his tanned face by a black bandana, and in his hand was a heaping plate of the most delicious pad thai, that Shepard had ever seen. His chef jacket was rolled up to his elbows, exposed skin covered in irezumi styled tattoos. This was the cook that Charis had screeched at. He placed the hot dish in front of her. She snapped apart the wooden chopsticks and unceremoniously dug in. 

It tasted even more amazing than it smelled. 

Shepard shifted in her seat, so she could eat and watch both her sides simultaneously. She noticed that Charis reemerged from the back— her flamboyant appearance was hard to miss. Even harder to miss, was the way she pressed her flush mouth against the cheek of the man who had brought Shepard her food. He was leaning into it, and her mandibles flickered. Eventually, a bright smile transformed his grumpy face into something truly handsome. 

She was kissing him. He softly chuckled, “You’re such a funny little catbird.” before playfully slapping her ass, as he walked back into the kitchen. Charis watched him disappear behind the curtain, eyes sparkling with affection. She had just made good with him— her boyfriend, or bondmate, or whatever title suited them.

Shepard watched the exchange with complete fascination, mouth full of rice noodles and tofu.

They were a couple. 

It could work? 

A human-turian relationship could work?

A funny feeling danced its way into her heart.

She whipped her head back to the street, feeling lecherous for watching the public display of affection that had just taken place so close to her.

Shepard took the last bite of her dinner, and slid off the stool. “I hope you come back!” Charis called out, as she was leaving. 

Shepard assured her that she would be, and meant it. 

+++

Shepard was caught in a torrential downpour on the way back to the Parliament, and had to make a mad dash through the rain; it turned out to be quite useless. She was soaked in the first minute of the deluge, and her boots slapping against the pavement proved to only make her steps slip on the glossy floors of the lobby. Shepard clumsily caught herself mid-fall, with only the two sentries witnessing the misstep. They were too respectful to mention it, or the fact that her white tee-shirt had taken on a transparent quality. 

She walked into her quarters, peeled off her wet garments and ran a towel through her hair. It was about the time she arrived in Cipritine the night before, which was perfect, because that meant the only contact that Shepard would ever need, would be up and active on the Citadel.

Shepard changed into fresh clothing, flopped onto the couch, and opened her portable terminal. Resting it in her lap, she secured a private channel with Liara, pushing a communication request through the intricate security measures that business with the Shadow Broker demanded. 

Shepard connected with her almost immediately. Liara’s voice and picture were clear through the vid-chat uplink.

“Hello, Shepard. How goes your mission?” she asked, a smile on her face. Liara always seemed happy to see her, and it never failed to warm a spot in Shepard. The asari had been a good friend to her. 

“Not as simple as I imagined.” Shepard confessed. It wasn’t turning out to be the cakewalk she imagined, and it wasn’t due to the workload. Had it really only been twenty-four hours since she arrived in Cipritine? It felt like she had been on Palaven for ages. 

“How… shocking.” Liara dully replied, rolling her bright eyes. 

“I know, right.” Shepard agreed. Very little made it past Liara, and Shepard knew that. Casually, she continued. “So… Did you _know_ that independent science agencies have been hired to data-mine the Reapers that weren't instantly destroyed?”

Liara’s smile immediately changed into a wretched frown. The asari sighed, and that was all the answer that Shepard needed. Liara had kept this from Shepard, and she couldn’t keep the resentfulness out of her voice. “Really, Liara? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Shepard, you’ve been in recovery!” Liara exclaimed like it should’ve explained everything.

“I’ve been out of Huerta Memorial for a long time.” Shepard coldly stated. 

Liara shook her head, eyes wide. “No, Shepard. You may have pushed through physical therapy, but you’re still in recovery. I wasn’t going to contribute to your PTSD with something like this.”

Shepard’s hands tightened.

“I do _not_ have PDST. You’re not that _sort_ of doctor, Liara.” Shepard gritted out. “You can’t make that diagnosis based on your assumptions.”

“It’s not my diagnosis, it’s Professor Solus’.” Liara replied. Nothing about Liara’s attitude suggested that she was being judgmental. She was openly concerned about Shepard, and that concern had drove her to hack into Mordin’s patient files. Shepard wanted to be shocked and appalled— but, if the roles were reversed, she probably would have done the same thing. Shepard was known for pulling some absolutely _questionable_ things for her friends and squad mates. 

“Well, that’s not what’s wrong with me. I’m just…” Shepard let her eyes drift to the view outside the window. She brought her hands up to massage her temples, before turning to Liara and insisting. “I’m just not as _grounded_ as I used to be, Liara. I’m tired.” 

“I know you are, Shepard.” Liara soothed. “But, I stand by my decision to keep this from you.”

When Shepard looked away from the vid-screen again, and didn’t reply, Liara continued. “Please, don’t knit your eyebrows like that.” Shepard glanced back to Liara, if only to glower. 

Liara held up her hands, defensively. "Besides, I personally don’t believe that any amount of data extraction will wield even minute results. That's another reason why I never brought it up. When you activated the Crucible, it did exactly what it was built to do; destroy the Reapers. Those _things_... have nothing left in them to give.” Liara paused. “Do you not believe that?”

Shepard felt a chill run down her spine, before speaking. “I don’t know how I feel about it. I saw one of them yesterday. It really… rattled me.” Her mind flashed to Rannoch, of the arid plateau on which she stood to personally face one of damn things down, and ultimately of Legion, dissolving his 1183 runtimes to disperse true intelligence throughout the Geth collective. 

His spent mobile platform lay in the red dirt, Shepard’s broken piece of N7 armor still welded over an old repair. Tali took her mask off briefly, wanting to see her homeworld without obstruction. She then buried her blanched face into Shepard’s long dark hair, because the sun was too bright for her overly sensitive eyes. Most of it had fallen out of the loose bun, and was greasy with sweat, dirty from blood. Before long, she started to sob on the Commander’s shoulder. “He really _did_ have soul, Shepard…” Tali lamented in her thick accent.

Shepard already knew that; had mourned silently for her friend. 

_Stop it. Right now._

Liara’s demeanor suddenly perked up. She was unaware that Shepard had one foot in the past. “So, you met with Garrus? How did it go?”

Shepard cleared a lump in her throat, disguising it as a cough.

“He seems to think that it could an issue.” Explained Shepard, referring to the conversation the two of them had shared at his base. “He feels like it’s only a matter of time before exploitation or abuse occurs.” 

“Garrus is a worrier by nature. But that’s not what I meant.” Liara grinned, and leaned her face onto her hand. “How did _it_ go?”

Thinking about Garrus accepting her apology chased away the barren landscape of Rannoch.

“He doesn’t hate me.” Replied Shepard happily.

“Oh, by the Goddess!” Liara blurted out. “Were you really concerned about that?”

Shepard shrugged. “It crossed my mind.” 

There was a moment of silence, before Liara spoke again. “Shepard. You’re my closest friend. I love you, dearly.” She was beginning nicely enough, but Shepard knew that Liara was at her wits end. She was gearing up to hit Shepard with something fierce. “But how did you lead an intergalactic campaign, uniting almost every species under a single banner, to prevail against assured annihilation, only to be bested by your own self-sabotage, regarding Garrus!” Liara’s words came quicker with each passing breath, and her eyes were practically bugging out on her round face. “You’re blind!”

Liara’s proclamation wasn’t anything that Shepard didn’t already know, and she took no offense to it. Honestly, she enjoyed watching Liara get her panties in a twist. It was a guilty pleasure, and fine payback for Liara’s meddling.

Shepard stifled her laughter. “Tell me how you really feel, next time.”

“I just did!” Liara uttered. A pause. “Oh. You’re teasing me.” She muttered, embarrassed. 

“I appreciate what you’re saying to me, Liara. And I’m working on it.” Mood swings aside, Shepard was proud of the small personal victories she’d fought and won while in Cipritine. “But, will you please look into this?”

Liara appeared alert in the vid-screen. They were in mission mode, and she was awaiting orders. 

Shepard drummed her fingers against the keyboard of the terminal, pondering exactly what she wanted to ask Liara for. “I need one of two solutions: Can we dismantle the Reapers? If so, how?” Liara acknowledged her demand by nodding. “Or, is there a way to confirm, with complete certainty that these shells are as hallow as they seem, and that data extraction will never wield results.”

“Yes, I understand. But for the record, you know where I stand.” Liara said. She was already sweeping past the various touch screens that surrounded her. The very distinct shape of Glyph floated behind Liara on the vid-screen. 

“It’s just a hypothesis, until you can prove it." Dared Shepard. "That’s what I need.” The scientist in Liara wouldn’t back down from the challenge.

“Touché. Is there anything else before we disconnect?” She asked in a brusque manner. Liara was just being polite, she didn’t really want to answer anymore more of Shepard’s inquires. 

But, there was one thing that Shepard was terribly curious about, though getting a response about the subject from Liara could prove difficult. She could be quite modest at times. Still, she knew that Liara would give her a straight answer, if Shepard prodded long enough.

Shepard tried the gentle approach.

“Actually, yeah. I met Solana Vakarian.” Said Shepard. 

“Ah, yes. Garrus’ younger sibling.” Liara recalled. “With the war over, Garrus allowed her to join his task force. She should still be serving in basic military tours, however. I believe that her brother pulled some strings to get her transferred closer to him.” 

“It’s a pretty safe assignment, at this point.” Still, she didn’t like the idea of that funny, giddy, love-struck girl being around a Reaper, deceased or otherwise. 

“Yes, it is. But it’s looked down upon in turian culture to promote without merit. Especially when it comes to family members.” Explained Liara. 

“I heard.” Shepard thought of Lieutenant Tarquin Victus, and his botched mission. He couldn’t have been much older than Solana at the time of his death. 

Her mind drifted to Adrien, just a floor above her, and how she suddenly wanted to go to him and…

_And do what, exactly?_

“But Garrus has never been one to concern himself with that sort of merit.” Liara’s voice interpreted her thoughts. “But what of Solana?”

“I think she insinuated that humanity was a bunch of puritans because we’re “strictly monologues”, and—“ 

Liara started to frantically wave her hands over the screen, stopping Shepard midsentence. “I know where you’re going with this.”

She closed her eyes, like she was resolving herself to some atrocious thing, took a deep breath and began to rattle off, “Monogamy, non-monogamy, polyamory, polyfidelity, and a few others that I’m _probably_ missing, are widely accepted throughout the intergalactic community, as long as all members of the relationship consent to it.”

She wasn’t comfortable, and quickly added. “Ask Professor Solus’ if you have any additional questions about this subject matter.”

That was much easier then Shepard thought it would be, even if she didn’t know what half those words meant. “Alright, I was just wondering.”

“Were you now? Trying to add even more trouble to your life, Shepard?” Accused Liara. 

“No.” She had enjoyably tested _all_ of Liara’s patience tonight. “I spent my whole life on Alliance ships. Don’t you think it’s worthwhile for me to learn as much as possible about the Citadel Space?”

She could hardly keep a straight face. 

“I can’t argue with that. But, to be fair, that’s the sort of stuff the extranet is for.” Snipped Liara. 

Shepard smiled at her annoyed friend. “Why should I use the extranet, when I have you?”

“You flatter me, and yet... I find myself infuriated with you.” Liara mused. “I’m ending our call, and will be in touch soon.”

The vid-screen went black. 

Shepard set the terminal back on the table.

“And good night to you _too_ , Liara.”

End Chapter Three


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: Foundations: Chapter Four
> 
> Author: Shudder Shock (http://afterlife-club.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Pairings: Garrus Vakarian/Female Shepard/Adrien Victus
> 
> Summary: After the war, Shepard is sent to Palaven by the Council. There, amongst facing the repercussions of the past, and political entanglement of the present, she may find a solid foundation for the future.
> 
> Rating: Mature, consensual and explicit. The best parts of sex.
> 
> +++

Shepard was never one to rely solely on her contacts, or squad mates during the many missions, and assignments that dominated her time during the Reaper War. Though, she would never deny that she needed their help to support her causes, and undertakings. In return, she provided them with stability during turbulent times, and means to an end regarding personal gains, and resolutions. 

So, it would’ve been unfair to let Liara take the brunt of the investigation. Shepard concluded that her own time would be best spent doing some old-fashioned footwork, while Liara worked out the technical issues. 

Garrus had mentioned that _certain_ Senate members were the main advocates in favor of pursuing what Shepard was positively certain would only lead to some form of disaster— be it monetary, social, or political. And she very much wanted to meet these legislators, if only to ask _why_. Why was it so important to risk the victory that had cost so many casualties? What sort of payoff could outweigh the uncertainty? 

Shepard needed to find out.

She pushed herself off the couch, and turned off the lights to the living quarters of her suite. Double checking that the door was locked, she retired to the bedroom. With hesitation she brought up her omni-tool, and sent a quick message to Adrien, requesting the schedule for the next Senate committee meeting. It was very late, and she didn’t want to wake him, though that wasn’t the reason for her reluctance to communicate with him. 

Shepard was fairly certain that Adrien Victus was well on his way to seducing her, and that was territory that she had little navigation through. She'd plenty of admirers in the past; something about the close confines of the Normandy could inspire even the coldest of occupants into a passionate frenzy if given only the smallest attentions. Shepard knew she held a certain sex-appeal, therefore kept all her would-be admirers at arm’s length.

She had little time for sweet nothings, with a galactic invasion resting on her shoulders. 

But the problem with Adrien was that she really did enjoy his company. And no one of his stature had ever seemed so intent on flirting with, or pursuing her. 

It was enticing, if that was indeed what was happening.

And yet, his attention stirred inconvenient emotions through her mind and body. 

Why would he even be interested in something like with her?

As Primarch of Palaven, shouldn’t Adrien be pursuing some well-bred turian lady, or some glamorous asari matron? Or, perhaps more obviously, the mother of his departed son?

It would’ve been so simple to be angry with him, but she couldn’t fool herself. She was already waging a war with her feelings for another turian, and Adrien Victus was complicating her situation even more, by making her feel so drawn to him. 

“But he’s not really complicating anything. Because there’s nothing going on between Garrus and I.” Shepard muttered to herself, dimming the lights and taking off her clothing. “And that’s nothing to be resentful about.” 

Perhaps if she said it with enough resolve, she could convince herself it was true.

Shepard laid back on the bed, intending to settle into something that resembled sleep for the night. Instead, she looked at her hands in the muted lighting; pale fingers, calloused palms, and neat nails. Garrus’ own hand easily circled her wrist with plenty of room to spare when he had caught her mid-motion with her gun. And she could still feel the ghost of Adrien’s digits enveloping her own; his rough thumb tracing over her knuckles. 

Her heartrate hastened, and a shudder of arousal spiraled down between her legs. 

Shepard couldn’t even remember the last time she felt the desire for that sort of passion.

Softly, she ran her fingertips across the memory imprint of Garrus’ grip, and the gentle touch of Adrien’s caress. She thought of how Garrus pulled his fingers through her hair, and the pleasant scent of them both.

Shepard overlapped her hands, tilted her head back, and ran them cautiously over her throat. How long had it been since anyone had touched her skin like this? Years, she guessed. Once upon a time, Shepard indulged in a healthy, active sex life. She slightly preferred males over females, but enjoyed the differences both genders could offer. But, the war had completely obliterated her libido. It was hard to picture intimacy neck deep in bloodshed and butchery. 

But neither Garrus, nor Adrien had done her long dormant sex-drive any favors. And she didn’t even feel guilty about her desires; she had no claim on either of them, as they had no ownership over her. It was a relief to feel some semblance of lust. She only wished the circumstances was less convoluted; she had gone from comfortably celibate, to hard up for some time in the sheets in a matter of days. 

Shepard moved her hands lower, over her breasts and the concave of her stomach. She shut her eyes, and imagined the brush of fingers that were longer, rougher, and more dangerous than her own, past her navel to the junction between her legs. Her body jerked up at her own touch. 

She was wet, not an unexpected or unwelcomed consequence to her wandering thoughts. It was nice to know that her anatomy still had that sort of functionality after being ignored for so long. She sighed, and spread her legs, just a little. The temptation to drive herself over the peaks of desire was borderline overwhelming. She slid her finger across her clit, and exhaled a breath she didn't realize she was holding in.

Unfortunately, an alert announcing that a message had bounced back to her omni-tool halting her exploration. Shepard forgot to set it to sleep mode. She yanked her hand back, like she had been caught; not ashamed, but surprised. 

She hadn’t expected a reply from Adrien until morning. 

_No rest for the wicked_ , she supposed. 

His response was brief, and to the point: there would be a Senate hearing the next day, and she was welcomed to attend.

The harsh sound of the omni-tool alert was far too abrasive for Shepard to fall back into a relaxing place in her mind, and although she tried to piece back together her broken fantasy, but the moment was gone.

Shepard rolled over, throwing the duvet over her shoulders.

Sexual frustration; just another addition to her post-war life.

+++

Shepard awoke early the next morning, feeling slightly more refreshed then her normal groggy standard. She showered, and changed into a pair of athletic leggings and sports bra. Mordin suggested yoga as a form of stress relief in-between their shared sessions. Shepard recalled telling him that she preferred jogging for that, but the Professor just laughed and replied, “Fitting. A living metaphor for how you deal with your current problems.”

His words begrudgingly hit home, and she since found the benefit of the low-impact exercise. Shepard had been neglectful of it lately however, and assumed there was at least some time do some basic stretches before she attended the Senate hearing. Adrien hadn’t been very specific about what time it started. Alas, her chakras would remain unaligned, as the modified alarm declared a presence at her door, interpreting her warrior pose. 

She activated her auditory implant. 

“Open the door, Shepard. It’s me.”

A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. Garrus sounded much friendly then the last time he announced himself at her door. And she wasn’t expecting to see him again so soon after their last meeting, so this was a pleasant surprise. Moving quicker than necessary, she punched in the door code, letting him through. 

He sauntered into her suite, wearing his fresh hard suit and carrying two tall cups, one in each hand.

“What ever happened to that ‘open door’ policy you used to be so _fond_ of?” She didn’t miss his facetious emphasis, or the way his eyes seemed to linger on her exposed midriff. Shepard felt nothing in the sense of modesty (there was no time for such things in the military), and his eyes moved to her face before she could determine anything from his glance beyond polite curiosity. He’d probably seen only very little in the way of human anatomy. 

She’d never seen a turian unclothed either. 

“It was abused one to many times,” Shepard explained, and then eyeballed the cups in his hands. The smell of coffee was permeating through the room. “Are one of those for me?”

“No, they’re both for me,” he replied sarcastically, before lifting one of the cups, confirming something on the side, and handing her the hot drink. 

_Levo- black_ was written in thick, bold lettering. 

Garrus had remembered how she preferred her coffee.

She remembered how he took his too; loaded with sweetener and cream. 

“Thanks. I haven’t had any since I’ve landed.” That realization dawned on her as soon as Garrus pressed the cup into her hand, but she kept the astonishment out of her voice. Shepard was an avid caffeine-junkie.

“Well, no wonder you haven’t gotten any work done,” Garrus said with dry confidence, well aware of her dependence on coffee. 

He moved to the couch, occupying the same seat as the night before. Shepard followed him, and curled into the opposite cushion, facing him with her feet tucked up in-between them. It felt comfortable and domestic, but she dismissed the feeling. Shepard couldn’t possible imagine being so settled that morning coffee on the couch would be an everyday occurrence for her.

Especially with Garrus. 

“Right, smartass. What’s got you here so early in the morning?” asked Shepard. She took a sip of her coffee. It was a delicious dark-roast; her personal favorite.

“I had business with the Primarch. And he mentioned you.” Garrus stilled, as if pondering his statement. After a quiet moment, he asked, “What’s your game plan in the Senate?”

“Observation, mostly. I’m working a few angles. Don’t worry, I got my feelers out. I’m not leaving Palaven until we’ve got a handle of this,” she said.

“Ah, cause for motivation. I’ve considered that, too. But, I haven’t been able to place my finger on it yet.” Garrus took a long drink, and reclined back. His free hand slid across the back edge of the couch. "I can’t imagine one good reason why anyone would think that messing with Reaper tech is a promising idea. Especially, after what happened.”

“That’s all very personal for us,” replied Shepard. 

Herself, and core squad especially. 

Garrus nodded. He knew exactly who she was referring too. “Yeah, and I think that whoever is pushing this agenda has a personal reason, too.”

“Beyond the obvious— money and power?” Garrus was a great detective, and it was nice to bounce theories around with him. It wasn’t the first time he’d lifted pressure off her shoulders, both literally and figuratively. 

“All I’m saying it that the road to hell is paved with good intentions,” Garrus’ mandibles flexed out. “You humans certainly have some _charming_ adages.”

She smiled at him over her cup.

Garrus checked his omni-tool. “The Senate meeting is starting soon. We should probably get going.” 

“You’re coming too?” she asked. This sort of quality time was as good as any, after such as long absence. 

“Unfortunately,” he said miserably. “I give monthly reports. The issue can’t be swept aside, or forgotten about if it’s periodically on the docket.” He stood to stretch. “The mediocrity of paperwork will surely be the death of me.”

Shepard couldn’t suppress her laughter and chided him through snickering. “You need to stop! You’re hitting too close to home, Garrus.” 

He chuckled, mandibles flaring out wider.

Shepard finally stood, and grabbing her pistol and a shirt from the bedroom. She walked out of the suite, sliding the gun into the holster at the small of her back, and then pulling the shirt on over her head. Garrus watched intently has she pulled her long hair through the collar, and adjusted the weapon. She caught him staring, and paused. “What? Can you see it through my shirt?” 

She picked up her coffee cup, heading to the door to wait for Garrus. He followed her to the elevator. His demeanor was reserved now, mandibles no longer fanned out in a smile.

He hit the proper button for the floor they needed, before aloofly stating, “Yeah, but that’s a moot point with me. I can spot a concealed weapon from kilometer away.” The elevator hummed into action. 

“I get that.” She left the statement open, now curious about the shift in his mood. 

Garrus turned to face her, and she took note that his blue eyes held something weighed in them. 

“You just look… so different now.” He didn’t say it like it was a bad thing; it was quite complimentary, on the verge of awe even. His comment made her feel both bashful and elated at the same time. Though, she didn’t really understand what he meant. While her hair was grown out, nothing else really was changed about her appearance. 

Her self-consciousness bled into her reply. “Come on, Garrus. You know, I don’t run around in BDU’s, or heavy armor all the time.” Better to deflect, then risk reading too much into his comment. Those were expectations that wouldn’t be fair to place on him. 

His tone turned serious. “That’s not what I meant, Shepard.” 

She glanced at him, waiting for him to elaborate. 

“It’s just, I remember when I first met you, and— “

He disappointedly didn’t get to finish what he was about to say; the metallic double doors parted open to reveal Adrien Victus standing in the center of the space. Garrus immediately straightened his back, and saluted the Primarch. Shepard bet that there were very few people that Garrus still needed to salute these days. Adrien acknowledged it with a curt nod, before moving his eyes to Shepard. “Developing a taste for politics, Shepard?” he asked her.

“Hardly,” she replied, looking up at Adrien. He was dressed just as finely as last time, which she reminded herself was really only hours ago. It had been ages since Shepard saw either of them this much, and that was on the Normandy SR-2. Often times, she would switch between the Main Battery and War Room just for the company of these two men.

Shepard stepped into the elevator, Garrus moving noticeably close with her. Shepard watched him out of the corner of her eye, but his face gave nothing away. If anything, he and Adrien appeared to be having some sort of silent exchange, though the tension amidst them didn’t feel hostile. She took a sip of coffee, standing comfortably between them. She could feel the heat of their bodies, and if she stored the sensation with enough clarity, it could prove to be useful whenever she felt the fleeting desire to bring herself off again. However, her libido remained unseen, for none of the heated desire from the night before surfaced, even now standing with the subjects of her muddled masturbation attempt.

Embarrassment, and awkwardness also remained absent. 

“Are you going to the Senate hearing as well, Primarch?” Despite his request to address him by his first name, she just couldn’t bring herself to do in such a public setting, even around Garrus. 

“Yes, if only to remind the Hierarchy who negotiates for them.” There was a bitter edge to his words. “Though, I am curious to know what you’re hoping to find. You didn’t elaborate very much last night.”

It was hard to miss the way Garrus snapped his head her way, or how he seemed to be staring a hole though the side of her face. 

“Find? I’m trying to _find_ some understanding into why.” Exasperation leaked into her voice. She ignored Garrus’ look; why was he staring at her like she was being inspected? Once again, she cursed her inability to decipher turian body language. 

“Ah, yes. The universal question,” mused Adrien. “A more cerebral approach, then?” 

“Subtlety hasn’t always worked for you, Shepard.” Garrus’ dig hit a point, but Shepard refused to acknowledge that. 

“It works when I need it too, Garrus,” she rebuffed. 

“Still, it’s not really your modus operandi,” Adrien added. “So maybe, a fresh set of eyes will help you see something we’ve missed.”

“It certainly won’t hurt,” she agreed. Two against one hardly seemed fair.

They rode the lift down together, Garrus and Adrien towering on each either of her, and Shepard admitted that it felt safe and cozy to be in this quiet space with the both them. It was a proven fact that she could look well after herself, but she knew what Garrus was capable of on a battlefield. And, although she never got to personally fight alongside Adrien (a damn pity), she knew the man could handle an assault rifle with the skill that only a veteran solider could.

It was a common misconception among the Alliance that all turians looked the same, and admittedly Shepard certainly felt that way before meeting Garrus. (And it wasn’t as if this fallacy wasn’t shared by turians in regard to humans. Shepard personally experienced that.) But now, it was so obvious to her the differences in appearance when she compared Adrien and Garrus to each other, even beyond their colony markings. The Primarch was slightly taller, with lengthier mandibles and fringe, his coloring more monochromatic with flaming eyes. Garrus was only a bit shorter than Adrien, with none of the markings of age but all of the scars of war on his facial plates. Overall, he was broader too, running around in strictly heavy armor over the last few years bulked his physique substantially, while Adrien was brawny yet lean. 

The elevator stopped on the third floor of the Parliament, adjacent doors opening at their backs, granting them access deeper into the massive building. They passed through a security barrier immediately upon exiting; a blue glowing grid tracking across their bodies. Guards were stationed every few meters apart, lining the walls of a refined marble hallway. Each solider wore a heavy set of gear, complete with pistol, rifle, and shotgun. They all stood at perfectly uniform attention.

Adrien, Garrus, and Shepard all set the alarm off as it scanned them, and all three were signaled to continue through the corridor by the guard managing the surveillance terminal. 

That didn’t sit well with Shepard. Weapons and politics went together like oil and water. The two just didn’t mix. “How often are weapons allowed into these committee meetings?” she asked. 

“It takes a certain level of clearance and merit to simply be waved through. Luckily, we have that sort of accreditation in spades,” Adrien said calmly, not worried in the slightest about Shepard’s query. 

“And if someone tries to sneak a weapon in?” she countered. 

“There are repercussions for that sort of stupidity,” answered Garrus causally, and Shepard smiled at his reply. 

Often, his jokes could ease the concerns she felt, but her battle intuition was nagging at her. “That driver, Maxtis, mentioned that this is the most heavily guarded building in the capital, but this is the first time I’ve seen so armored guards around.”

“Shepard, you of all people, should know that just because you can’t see them, doesn’t mean they’re not there. We’re a vigilant people,” offered Adrien. “Please, don’t worry yourself.” He raised his hand, placing it softly on her arm just below the sleeve of her shirt; skin to skin— it was supposed to be a touch of comfort. 

It only made her feel more antsy, and unsteady. Garrus shot another indecipherable look to Adrien, herself and Adrien’s point of contact on her arm. 

“I'd never argue otherwise,” agreed Shepard. She sped her steps up just enough to casually walk away from Adrien’s hand without the tactic being too pronounced. His fingertips ran down her silky flesh, until they could no longer touch her. “I’ve just found it’s better to be overly cautious at times.”

Because things had a habit of crumbling around her, if she wasn’t.

“I couldn’t agree more,” replied Adrien. “Why do you think Garrus and I are armed?” 

She left the Primarch’s statement alone; his words holding true. On the off chance of some wayward attack, Shepard knew that between the three of them, it could definitely be resolved. 

They were closing in on the entrance to the Senate gallery, and Shepard took one last moment to brace herself before entering the assembly. Even after all her years dealing with lawmakers and legislators, nothing could drive her to fury quicker than some out-of-touch congressperson. 

“Alright, anything I should prepare for?” She resisted the urge to check her weapon. 

“Yeah, prepare to be _unbelievably_ bored,” replied Garrus.

+++ 

Garrus wasn’t exaggerating about how tedious and uninteresting the Hierarchy political arena turned out to be. With no war effort to discuss, the subjects were purely civic. The most engaging subject by far was how beautifully austere the interior architecture of the Senate gallery turned out to be. It was entirely unlike the Citadel Tower; there were no lavish fountains, or blooming gardens. It followed the same design structure as the rest of the Parliament building— an ode to the power of the turian military. 

Shepard currently looked over the veranda that was supported by large columns, to the open space below her. The senators were arranged in a semi-circle, with a large podium in the center of the room. Adrien was seated there, and despite his discontent about his position, he carried himself with such stately quality that Shepard would’ve never guessed that he wasn’t the first choice in the Hierarchy succession tier. 

Upon entering, both he and Garrus walked down a staircase— the corridor they used wasn’t actually the primary point of entry. The rest of the congressional board used a set of burnished doors on the main level of the chambers. 

Shepard observed Garrus sitting next to a much older turian, who looked very familiar to her, though she swore she’d never seen him before. He was much paler then Garrus, but similar blue tattoos ran along his zygomatic plates. The two of them were speaking plainly to one another, and periodically the old turian would glance over Garrus’ shoulder to look briefly at Shepard. Whoever he was, he knew that Shepard was watching the back of her friend.

The heavy rap of a gavel echoed through the assembly, Adrien’s booming voice called out immediately after the fall of the hammer, “I call this meeting to order.”

Shepard felt her eyes glaze over, despite her best attempts to stay watchful. This just wasn’t something she had patience for. She tried to keep her eyes moving around the crowd, tried to keep her ears open to each orator who eloquently presented a topic. It was a reminder of her original purpose and mission on Palaven— to assist with the restabilization of post-war endeavors, and provide an accurate report to the Citadel Council for the evaluation of allocations per the request of government officials. 

Shepard made the conscious effort not to gag. 

She would need to forward a progress report to the Council soon, and made a mental note to download a copy of the meeting minutes and review them later that day.

+++

A recess was called mid-day, and Shepard practically ran out of the main set of doors into the large, windowed lobby. The overcast day still made for great natural lighting, so she took advantage of the pleasant surroundings. Finding a bench to recline on, she used her omni-tool to start a program that could grab as much information about each congressperson as possible. She also started to run a scan for keywords on every piece of legislation that was proposed, passed, or vetoed in the last seven months. 

Shepard still felt like this was the best approach for eliminating the problem that laid in the war-beaten wastes of the turian depot, even with today feeling like a waste of time. 

The only time the Reaper was even mentioned, was by Garrus in a report that he must have repeated to the Senate one to many times. 

Uneven steps approached her, and Shepard quickly hid her work by superimposing the hacking program with a basic email layover. She looked up to see the old turian that Garrus was speaking to in the Senate shuffling towards her. He must have taken a pretty devastating injury at some point to be limping along like that. 

“Young lady, mind if I share this seat with you?” he graciously asked as soon as he was near enough to do so. His voice held an inflection that Shepard recognized from somewhere. 

There were completely empty benches all around the lobby, but she supposed that the one she occupied was closest to the entrance back into the Senate. Shepard was hoping to catch Adrien and Garrus soon, but the last she saw before leaving the chambers was the two of them wrapped in some heated discussion. But, with a faltering walk like this man had, Shepard understood wanting to have ease of access. 

She smiled, and scooted over to make room for him. “I don’t mind at all.”

“That’s very kind of you,” he said, sitting down. Shepard casually went back to the business on her omni-tool. She was certain that he couldn’t see the angle from where he was. The data-cache was turning out to be immense, so she set the information to transfer directly to her portable terminal back in her room. 

After a while, he spoke. “I have to say, you’re not at all what I expected.” 

“Excuse me?” she said vaguely, looking up from her work. 

He was investigating her, there was no other way to describe it. 

“Most Spectres I’ve seen and met, are eager to fly their credentials. Too willing to go to extreme lengths to further the agenda of the Council. Too fast, and too loose. You’ve done what you’ve had too, but I don’t believe you’ve ever gone overboard.” He paused, noticing her bewildered expression. “What I’m saying is that I appreciate the… delicate hand you’re trying to play in our capital.”

Who was this man, and how did he know she was a Spectre? Shepard was trying her damnedest to be inconspicuous. She hadn’t even touched her Spectre master gear since landing on Palaven. If anything, she looked like some human tourist vacationing on Palaven, not a decorated war veteran. Carefully, she neither confirmed, nor denied his assumptions. “You’ve got me at a disadvantage here, mister...?”

He held out his hand. “Castis Vakarian.” 

Without a second thought, she returned his handshake. His looks, the way he spoke, how he watched her in the Senate— it all made sense.

This was Garrus’ father. The retired, by-the-books C-Sec officer, and the man that Garrus claimed wouldn’t care for Shepard at all— not because she was human, but for her work with Special Tactics and Reconnaissance. 

“Garrus has told me a lot about you,” she replied honestly. Shepard only hoped she made a decent first impression upon Castis. She loved Garrus, and by proxy, she loved his family as well.

Even if they didn’t need, or want her too.

Plus, pissing off the patriarch of the Vakarian household seemed like an awful idea. There was still so much left unsaid between herself and Garrus.

“As with you, Shepard.” He shuffled in his seat, trying to elevate some pressure off his back. He winced, but only a little. “Now, as please as I am to finally meet you, I didn’t drag my broken ass over here just to say 'hello'. I know what you’re up to on that omni-tool of yours.”

Straight to the point. It was easy to see where Garrus got it from. 

Instinct told her to deny his accusation. “I don’t know—“

He raised his finger, the universal sign of parental silencing. “I’ve raised two children, and worked in the police force for decades. Don’t lie to me.” Shepard clicked her jaw shut. Former Alliance commander, N7 agent ,and Spectre that she was, there was little defense against _that tone_. Castis and Mordin both wielded it like a weapon. “And I’m not here to chastise you. I think you’re on the right track.”

“Thanks,” she replied, unsure where this conversation was leading.

He nodded, and briskly continued. “My contacts on Palaven far exceeds Garrus’, so reach out to me if you need such resources.”

That was an offer she couldn’t turn down. “I really appreciate that, Officer Vakarian.”

“I appreciate _you_. You brought my son home,” he replied sincerely, and her heart swelled. “And just Castis. I’m retired.”

Shepard looked up at the two discernible figures finally leaving the committee chambers. Garrus and Adrien were still speaking to each other in a hushed, dramatic tones. They were too far off for her to hear anything coming out their mouths. Shepard squinted her eyes at them; she just couldn’t guess what had the two of them so heated, besides the Reaper issue. But, whatever they were discussing seemed much more personal than that.

Castis noticed her watching them.

“The Primarch and my son share… common interests. But they have different views on how to approach said interests,” he offered. 

Castis’ insight was obscure, at best. 

Adrien looked up suddenly, away from Garrus to Shepard. He then stopped Garrus mid-sentence with a sudden motion from his hand, and the conversation was over. The Primarch coolly turned, and strolled away, leaving an annoyed Garrus standing in the entrance hall.

“Only _my child_ , would be so argumentative with the Primarch. He got that cheek from his mother. Solana, too. That came from my wife’s side of the family,” Castis said with loving condemnation.

Shepard refused to comment, although she found it to be terribly funny. From what Garrus told her, Castis had some brazenness too. 

+++

Shepard didn’t return to the Senate after it was called back into session, and neither did Garrus. His tolerance for government was on about the same level as Shepard’s own— nonexistent.

As much as she wanted to linger around Garrus and his father, she knew that her terminal was full of information that needed processing. She felt Garrus’ gaze on her back as she walked away from him. She very much wanted to finish their conversation from early that morning. Shepard got the impression that he wanted too.

And then there was the matter of the Council’s report. Hopefully, Adrien would be available later in the evening for that discussion. 

She also needed to check-in with Liara. 

Thankfully, Shepard possessed excellent time management skills, and spent the remainder of the day in front of her terminal. There were thousands of documents that the data-catching program was scanning through; almost all of it post-war measures. 

It was dark when she finally remembered that a meeting with Adrien was required for the formal statements that the Council would demand. Shepard was confident that Palaven would get the resources it needed. The Council would’ve been incredulity _stupid_ to drive a wedge between themselves, and the most powerful military force in the galaxy. The Citadel needed the turian fleets at their disposal. And Shepard knowing the Primarch the way she (thought) she did, Adrien wasn’t going to give in to some half-measured proposition that wouldn’t fully benefit his people.

Shepard knew that all to well. 

But, if she was in his position, she’d do exactly the same thing. 

Distantly, she thought of Earth. She would need to get in touch with the Spectre agent dispatched to her homeworld. 

She contacted Adrien, expecting the same quick reply time as the night before, but it was about forty-five minutes before he responded. 

Shepard would meet with him in around an hour, per his request.

She waited the appropriate amount of time, and then took the lift a floor up. The Hierarchy granted her unlimited clearance (they had little choice due to her Spectre status) to the Parliament building, all except to the Primarch’s chambers and villa. So, she expected the security mechanism to be glowing green when she approached his doors. They were still in the red. Shepard assumed Adrien was in a meeting that was going over on time. 

How typical of politics. 

When the doors finally slide open, it wasn’t some diplomat that stormed out of Adrien’s office— it was a turian woman. She wasn’t in attendance from early; Shepard wouldn’t have missed her, amongst the sea of uninspired cabinet members. While Solana was cute, this woman was beautiful. Her garments were lovely; amethyst in color that flowed around her slender physique. Elegant vermilion tattoos danced up her delicate mandibles, and across alabaster plates. But it her eyes stood out most of all; sapphire irises that were absolutely filled with loathing as soon as they fell upon Shepard in the corridor. 

Animosity seeped out of every fiber of her being, but she passed Shepard in silence. 

Shepard kept her eyes locked on the woman until the she disappeared into elevator. 

_What the hell was that?_

She entered Adrien’s office, still looking over her shoulder with a sense of unease.

His back was turned, arms crossed and disposition irritated. Shepard saw him scowling in the reflection of the glass panes. 

Through incoming storm clouds, Menae was full tonight. 

The air was heavy with dispute. 

She hovered in the doorway. “Do you want me to come back later?” 

He perked up, slightly. “No. Your company always pleases me.” 

Shepard didn’t doubt his sincerity, but the uncomfortable feeling of jealousy and possessiveness was twisting her insides up. There was no right for her to feel that way. As with Garrus, it was arbitrary.

She walked towards him, and said, “I was hoping to talk to you about any concerns that the Hierarchy—“ 

“What a waste of your time,” he grumbled. “You’re far too decorated to be playing liaison for the damn Council.” 

In that moment, Shepard knew that the Council’s report was about to be delayed for at least another day. 

Shepard completely agreed with Adrien, but still felt the need to defend her role. “It’s currently a part of my job description.”

The role of _Commander_ also demanded the same sort of flexibility with occupational responsibilities. This was nothing new for Shepard. She was a master at adaptability. 

“Yes,” Adrien said bitterly. “I know all about that. I never would’ve imagined that I’d be in the position I’m in now.” He turned fully to her. “I was perfectly happy spending my days in the trenches with my fellow soldiers. I miss it, Shepard.”

She could see him in the Normandy’s War Room, hunched over numerous schematics, and terminal screens. “Are you still feeling unsettled in your promotion?”, she asked.

“Promotion? I was all that the meritocracy had left, after all the other options were missing, or killed in action,” Adrien said. “I shouldn’t complain, this is what all turians should strive for. But, I’ve never been much of a traditionalist.”

His comment echoed the similarities of another turian rebel.

She smiled, and said fondly, “You and Garrus both.”

“That’s right,” he agreed. A mandible twitched, and maybe he was smiling briefly. It was too fleeting to even guess. “But, there are some similarities between being the Primarch, and being a General, so I wasn’t completely unprepared for this.”

Shepard tilted her head, peering outside. “And those similarities are?”

“Everyone wants something, most of all— my time,” he stated. 

A smile crept upon her lips once more. “Ha. I know that feeling.”

With sympathy, he offered, “I know you do.”

“Anything else?” Shepard inquired. 

“Yes. A life of conflicts, violence, and death with no time for mourning,” Adrien solemnly replied. 

_Tarquin._

Shepard hesitated, debating whether or not now was the time to explore this topic. It was a subject that still weighed heavily on Shepard’s conscious. "Adrien."

She looked away from the stunning view that was Cipritine's skyline, could already feel the heaviness of his smoldering gaze upon her face. She met his eye, and took a small breath. "How is... Tarquin's mother? Is she well?” she asked quietly. Shepard felt uncomfortable asking about her, whoever she was, though she couldn’t place the reason why. But this was proper etiquette. There was no time to observe it at the time of Tarquin’s death.

The disquiet clutch of his fingers against crossed arms was the only indicator of personal distress, or unease.

Perhaps he simply didn't want to speak to Shepard about this, because he didn't say anything for tense moment.

Finally he replied, “She is a remarkable woman. We parted ways years ago, but she handled the news with the strength befitting her character. At least, in the beginning.” He paused, clearly troubled. “I personally contacted her after our son’s death. I didn’t want her to hear it through any other source. She deserved more than an impersonal causality report.”

_Parted ways years ago._

Relief.

Shepard felt relief.

"Thank you for asking," he sincerely added.

Asking about Tarquin’s mother was the culturally polite thing to do, but Shepard was genuinely concerned about Adrien. Her emotional investment in him was gaining in alarming momentum.

"What about you?" she questioned softly.

“I’m a very busy man. I process what I can, when I’m able,” he said pragmatically.

Shepard caught the underlying guilt of his words.

It felt like she took a hit to the gut, his words all too familiar. They echoed her entire wartime creed.

Tarquin Victus should’ve never been given command of the Ninth Platoon, and his father knew it.

She could only imagine the difficulty and sorrow that losing a child presented.

Adrien walked away from the windows, and to the far side of the room. His shoulders looked heavy, and his steps seemed sluggish. She followed behind him as he moved to the lounge area. There sat a tasteful couch, with a low table in front of it, and a cabinet to the side. Two overstuffed armchairs formed a semi-circle, also facing the table. This space was meant to invoke camaraderie and comfort. It was where contracts could be gained or broken, depending on who was occupying the seat across from which leader.

He slumped in one of the armchairs, looking dejected and exhausted.

Shepard's heart broke for him, and a crushing desire to comfort him took over her senses; whatever she could offer, Adrien could have.

Her head spun with how much more she wanted from, and for him.

Wanted his body over hers. 

Wanted him to conquer her.

Wanted his touch to liberate the tight ache in her loins. 

But most all, she didn’t want Adrien or herself to feel alone anymore, if only for this moment.

Shepard draped her arms around him, leaning over his shoulders. Her breasts pressed into the back of his cowl. Shepard could feel heat radiating through his clean, pressed clothing and through her own. He smelled of dry cedar, and clove. Under both scents, there was a trace of something else too, something with no fragrance; the unquestionable power this man possessed.

It was intoxicating. 

Her soft cheek was against his mandible. It wasn’t as hard, or rough as she imagined. “I’m sorry. I wish, I just could have— “ she whispered.

If she could've just saved Tarquin.

Adrien turned his face, sliding his flush mouth close to her full lips. She could feel his breath tickling her mouth. “Don’t be.” His voice was lower then she’d ever heard before, but his sub-vocals reverberated loudly. “Don’t let his death burden you, anymore. You uplifted him in the moment it counted most.” With each enunciation, his mouth touched her skin. "I never blamed you, and never will."

Adrien lifted his hand behind her neck, his talons tracing the sensitive skin there. She sighed pleasantly. The only pressure she was experience at the base of her neck for the last few years, was the seal of her N7 combat suit. He caught her hair, pulling it forward and past her shoulder. It fell over them. The same hand cupped the side of her face, turning it towards his own. 

Hard, heavy rain hit the glass panes. 

Her heart started to race.

“You smell very pleasant, right now.” Adrien muttered before his sharp thumb dragged itself over the tender skin of her mouth, feather light. Shepard gingerly kissed the digit. A droning came from his throat, as he drew her to him, and pressed his mouth to hers. 

Their tongues meshed, and he tasted like aged, smoky bourbon.

End Chapter Four


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: Foundations: Chapter Five
> 
> Author: Shudder Shock (http://afterlife-club.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Pairings: Garrus Vakarian/Female Shepard/Adrien Victus
> 
> Summary: After the war, Shepard is sent to Palaven by the Council. There, amongst facing the repercussions of the past, and political entanglement of the present, she may find a solid foundation for the future.
> 
> Rating: Mature, consensual and explicit. The best parts of sex.
> 
> A/N:
> 
> A. Additional notes at the bottom.
> 
> +++

Shepard quickly found that kissing a turian was nothing like kissing a human. Adrien’s mouth wasn’t at all like her own; he lacked the pronounced pout that Shepard’s own species shared, but that detail took none of the pleasantry away from the way their tongues moved together. 

It was, after all, the rugged texture of his tongue made her sex throb with possibilities. 

She knew that before the night was over, she was going to let Adrien Victus fuck her. She wasn’t even ashamed of how willing she was to let him do it, either.

Adrien could take as much of her as he wanted. 

Because she was sure as hell going to use him, too.

Instinctually, he must’ve know this, because she was aggressively pulled into his lap, knees open to straddle his body. Even at this elevated angle, she could only just tuck her head under his jaw, and needed to boost herself up to reach his mouth without straining her neck. It brought their bodies closer together; the differences in his anatomy even more pronounced now that Shepard was trying to grind herself through him. He met her motions, snapping his hips upward to her sprawled thighs. He felt utterly solid and firm against her groin, which rejoiced for the attention. 

Adrien’s hand slipped off her face, and around her throat. He held her there, pressure firm but not disrupting her breath in the slightest. Survival instinct told her to be weary; her neck being so sensitive and vulnerable. But it was only just enough to hold Shepard still while he plunged his tongue into her mouth, suggestively obscene. When he pulled away her lips felt raw, full, and slick with spit; a promise for another part of her anatomy, she hoped. 

His touch was amazing, and she was starving for it. No one dared to invade her personal space with such assurance. Her superior rank would never have allowed it; during the war, she took pride in her authority. It left her isolated now.

But, much like her last-minute realization for Garrus, Shepard was struck with how much she’d been yearning for Adrien since stepping into his office upon her arrival in Cipritine. It unsettled her, being so out of touch with her own wants and needs. 

Curiously, she brought her hands up to his face, running fingertips over the ink work that decorated his mandibles and crest, ending up at the back of his head, right under his fringe. A pleased _hum_ issued from his subvocals. The overlaying scales there were softer then the plating of his face. The dermis behind his maxilla even more so. She could feel the sinewy muscle under it all. Shepard found the contrast in his skin to be rousing; different then her own smooth and lean body. 

Different than any human body she’d touched in the past.

She found herself faltering in her exploration. She really had no idea where turian erogenous zones were. Adrien seemed to sense this, and covered one of her hands with his own, guiding it down to the rim of his cowl. “Touch me, here,” he directed. His tone was dominating and commanding; her panties now thoroughly soaked. She did as instructed. “Or wherever you’d like,” he added with a pleased drone. “I’ve been waiting long enough for this.”

His comment gave her mental pause, and her next words came out husky chuckle, “I’ve only been here for less than week…” It hardly seemed like a great deal of time to spend crawling through the troughs of lust.

“I’m fully aware of how long you’ve been here,” Adrien rumbled out. “Your fragrance hasn’t left my nostrils. It was maddening _then_ , and it’s impossible _now._ ” 

_Then and now._

Could he really have wanted her like this for so long? If he gave any indication on the Normandy, Shepard certainly missed it— so occupied with counterbalancing all the hardships of the war effort, suppressing her own longings, and preparing for the inevitable sacrifice that spearheading such a movement would call for her to do.

She didn’t want any loose ends, especially a lover, or lovers— she consciously made the decision to put blinders up to any potential possibly. It wouldn’t have been fair to those who risked their feelings for her. 

And easier concept to imagine than to completely execute. 

It seemed there were plenty of unresolved issues just waiting to be stroked into existence.

“I didn’t know…” Shepard started. She didn’t feel the need to apologize, but wanted to recognize his admission.

“You were no position to be pursued,” Adrien answered dismissively straightforward, but followed up thoughtfully. “I got the impression that was what you wanted.”

A simple acknowledgement that she felt utterly grateful for; he understood. A warm reprieve drifted through her body. Any apprehension that lingered, disintegrated with his empathic words.

Adrien slipped his large hands under her shirt, and the conversation ended. It was pulled over her head, and she saved him the trouble of unhooking her bra. Shepard tossed somewhere to the side of the lounge. She watched him run his eyes over her exposed flesh. His gaze lingered lustfully on her waist. It reflected the same way Garrus looked at her midriff, earlier in the day. Even through her hazy sex-fogged brain, she filed that piece of information in a safe place. 

Briefly, her thoughts remained on Garrus— wondered if he would even care what was happening between herself and Adrien. Ultimately, it didn’t matter; Shepard was mature enough to disconnect herself from unrequited love, and partake in very distracting, immediate primal urges.

Adrien’s hands brought her back to the moment as he caressed the curve of her rib cage, down to the fullest part of her hips, before they settled back up to circle the narrowness of her waistline. The index and thumb on each of his hands nearly touched. His expression was openly predatory, sharp teeth exposed via flared mandibles, and pupils dilated. He liked what he saw, she could read that much into his expression, and it spurred on Shepard’s sensuality— to please, and be pleased.

He pressed his palms into her shoulder blades, moving her body upward to him, up onto her knees so her breasts were even with his face. The impression of his talons dimpled into her skin; just the of barest bit of thorny pressure. Anticipation rushed her, and she threw her head back when she felt his edge of his mouth nip at a nipple. There was no suction from his mouth, but there was the unhurried flick of his wet, course tongue. Shepard loosely wrapped her arms around his neck, arching to him and granting better access to his modest, yet heaving targets. Her breathe was starting to catch. From this angle, she could run a hand over and under the spines of his crown. 

She traced her fingertips across the edge of his carapace, pulling away to kiss him again. There was danger in it; sharp obstacles that could puncture her tongue if she pushed to deeply or wildly into his mouth, yet it spurred her on. His body too, even through clothing was all jugged plains and rough edging. The thrill seeker in her elated each time she pressed herself to him, and Shepard knew that working Adrien out of his attire was the next step to hushing the blood that swirled around her ears and between her thighs. His hands left her midsection, and traveled lower, over her hips and bare back. He gripped her ass, keeping her stationary as he fervently rocked against her. 

She very suddenly felt a shift in his pelvis, and she knew his cock was awakened and of considerable size. 

Shepard started urgently tugging at the closures of his waist coat, but was halted when the usual pressure of her hostler and gun went missing. Its weight was such a part of her; it was startling to not feel the imprint of the weapon digging into her skin.

Adrien casually dropped the N7 Eagle to the floor. 

He disarmed her, skillfully and silently. 

Her immediate reaction was to give him an outraged glare and reclaim the pistol, but as she leaned over, Adrien caught her hand and held it, much like how he was so fond of when greeting her. “You’re safe in here, Shepard.” _With me._ The words were unspoken, but they hung in the air like perfume. She meant to counter his statement, but her rebuff was forgotten, when his free hand tangled itself in her hair, pulling it until her head tipped back. He licked a line up from her sternum to her jaw. “You don’t believe me?” he asked, mouth moving along her cheek.

“I don’t know,” Shepard breathlessly admitted. A sick-sort of anxiety pricked at the back of her neck, starting at the gun that laid on the floor. Wasn’t it better to be ever-ready, and not risk the alternative?

“I do,” Adrien said, and started rising out of the chair, arm under her round ass, lifting and supporting her like she weighed nothing. Shepard liked how assertive it was, and how feminine it made her feel to be carried by a confident, protective male who seemed resolved on _having_ her. It was invigorating to let Adrien have authority over this encounter.

She rested her forearms on his shoulders while he moved them to an electronically-locked door Shepard never noticed before. Adrien used his free hand to quickly input a numerical code that let them pass through. Leaving the openness of massive office, with its floor-to-ceiling windows and dim lighting, quieted the overly paranoid part of her brain that made it difficult for her to sleep at night, or that could potentially to ruin a perfectly fine attempt at coitus. 

Too focused on their interaction to take in the details of their new surroundings, Shepard quessed that this was Adrien’s actual living quarters. It blurred past her— Adrien moved his feet with obvious propose and location in mind— the bedroom. It was regal in its simplicity, and even more impressive than the accommodations that Hierarchy granted her. She was deposited carefully on the floor, calves against the bed. 

For a moment, she wondered if this was really happening. She was about to be more intimate then she’d allowed herself to be in years, with the extremely powerful _turian_ political leader, a man who she held in very high-regard, and respected. She’d come to Palaven for business, not to be seduced. But, it was undeniably enticing to all her senses, and maybe this what she deserved after everything she’d given and lost; Adrien Victus filling the literal emptiness of her physique and psyche. 

She placed her hands across his broad chest— a reminder to stay grounded, and that he also still wore ever bit of his clothing from the day. She’d not gotten very far in divesting him of his garments. The remedy for that was delivered as quickly as her hands could work. His sharp dark suit was made up of an annoying number of layers: topcoat, jacket, waistcoat, dress shirt, all in the standard turian design. She huffed. Adrien looked down at her in amusement, and took the rest of his own clothes off. 

Shepard did the same, toeing off her boots. She removed her leggings and panties in the same motion. She stepped back from him, sitting on the bed. He immediately was upon her, laying her down in the center, hands circling her wrists to pin her. Adrien kept his body just above hers, high enough to keep any potential scraping at bay. She bowed up to him anyway, not troubled by the edging of his body. The tips of her nipples just brushed pectoral plating. She opened her legs, letting him kneel between them. Adrien dragged his hands over her breasts, kneading them lightly, before trailing over her smooth abdomen, and then perching back. Every place he touched left scorching line; she could feel his heat even after he pulled away. 

She propped herself up to take in his strange magnesium. His anatomy was universally handsome; very symmetrical, and strong. She liked his wide shoulders, tapered waist, and naturally armored planes. She was struck by how much more raptorial and imposing he seemed without clothing. Light silhouetted the ridged, natural crown of his head, along his cowl, and muscular structure of his deltoids and biceps. She could see sharp teeth through fanned maxilla. 

Adrien watched her with amber straightforward eyes, and she felt like he was about to tear her up, and then consume her. When he finally did open his mouth, it wasn't to bite. Quietly he said, “You’re a very beautiful woman, Shepard.”

She blushed for the first time since their tryst began. 

A smile tugged up one of the corners of her mouth.

Adrien settled between her spread legs, kissing her bent knee gently. His calloused palm and fingers ran along the inside of her thigh, and her arousal was elevated uncomfortably high. Flat on her back, with him looming over her, Shepard felt exposed and willing to be conquered. It was a new sort of stimulate for her; she was never one to give up control easily. 

It felt natural to do so for Adrien. 

He moved his thumb in slow, lazy circles against her clit. She arched, sighing in both annoyance and pleasure. The pressure he provided felt so good, but it wasn’t enough. She was just wound so _taut_ ; needed release. She longed to feel him inside of her, she could see how edger his body was for this too— unsheathed and fully erect. His ultramarine member was thick, with an intriguing curve to its impressive length. 

She imagined what he was going feel like, how he might taste.

If she scooted herself down just a little, she could press the tip of his phallus against her throbbing vulva, but his free hand held her steady. He did take small pity on her however, and switched to his index finger to tease even more of the arousal that dripped out of her, only to drift back up through her soft folds to massage the small bundle of nerves found there. 

A whine escape her mouth, and she spread her slender legs further apart for him. 

At least he knew that the closest distance between two points was a straight line, and proceeded exercised this theory repeatedly. After sliding between the glistening valley, spreading the oily lubrication that her body was plentiful with, Adrien finally pushed a single finger into her. She felt something akin to victory as her internal muscles clutch around his digit, and she heard a low restlessly approving noise emit from his subvocals.

He explored her with the sort of easy familiarity that comes from years of sexual experience. Shepard never felt even a hint of sharp talon, only the pivoting of his finger as Adrien learned her personal preference for being finger-fucked. He pressed deeply and upward, hit a wonderful spot inside. Shepard watched him with heavy-lidded eyes, as Adrien watched her and the blissful expression that his attentions gifted her with.

A mandible flared out, he was smirking and pleased with her reaction. Adrien repeated his ministration, this time adding his other hand, and massaging her clit, once again. She leaned back, toes curling into soft bedding and let him play with her pussy. 

He seemed satisfied with his exploration when she bore down upon his hands, and removed them to hasten his body forward. 

She was uncertain for second— feeling his blunt, heavy head glide against her clit, through her velvety inner lips, to start nudging past the wet threshold of her body. She was now grateful for his slow and detailed foreplay. Even with how ready she _thought_ she was to be stretched like this, or how she craved to be filled completely by Adrien, he was massive.

But, the way she wanted him was almost unreasonable. When he paused, sensing her trepidation, it felt like she was being denied something precious. She reached down, fingers over rolling over the smooth texture of his shaft, to the rounded tip that was so close to being fully inside her. Hooking her legs over the hallow pinnacles of his pelvis, she spurred down and groaned. The balance between pleasure and pain was a heady sensation all its own, and Shepard embraced it. 

They could do this. 

She tossed her head back, moaning wantonly, when Adrien met her mid-way to fully encase himself in snug, dewy heat. 

An animalistic timbre resonated from within his vocal cords, as he plunged in gradually, trying to measure just how deeply he could go. He would stop to allow her to adjust to his size whenever she jerked, or twisted too quickly. Slick fingers hooked under her knees, keeping them open, as he started a gentle careen; never too deep or shallow. It was a balanced, smooth motion that she appreciated for its consideration, even as she started craving a more aggressive approach. 

This was nice, but she wanted him to just _rail her_ — like she knew he could, and wanted too. 

Even without being completely adapted to his girth, she rocked urgently against each thrust. Adrien indulged in her enthusiasm, and she followed his eyes down to their point of penetration. Shepard couldn’t see it from this angle, but wished she was able. 

She’d love to watch his cock pump in and out of her. 

“Get on your hands and knees for me?” He presented it as a question, but was already pulling out, and turning her over without awaiting an answer. He didn’t expect her to object. She didn’t, and was more than willing to be put in whatever position pleased him the most, as it would undoubtedly please her too. Her only gripe was that she was no longer wrapped around his stiff erection. 

Rolling over, Shepard pushed herself up on all fours. His knee dragged itself between her own, widening her legs. He pressed against the back of her thighs, and Shepard dipped her head, feeling Adrien buried inside again. 

She was at his mercy, just like she wanted to be. 

He renewed the gentle, low speed from before. 

_No._

Irrationally impatient, Shepard bounced back— but clever and formidable ex-general that he was, Adrien anticipated her tactic and caught her hips, stopping her. 

“Relax,” he ordered.

She disregarded his request, and tried to surge back unto his shaft. Didn’t he understand how badly she wanted to feel him; every inch, ridge and bend?

Adrien only chuckled, and gripped a little tighter, never hurting her, only limiting movement. His hands were hot, and steady. One wound itself into the long hair that draped between her shoulder blades. 

“If you can’t relax for me, maybe I can have Garrus join us and he can persuade you.” She heard the smile in his voice, and he emphasized the word _persuade_ by unexpectedly thrusting so hard she felt her ass bounce against his pelvis. 

_Oh, god._

She gasped at his provocative comment, the way he speared her, and immediately came hard around him. It completely blindsided her, and she felt herself going limp with sweet, long sought after gratification. His breath hitched deep in his throat, but Adrien still held her hips firmly in place, pausing to savor the way her body ensnared his length, and letting her ride out orgasm, just for a moment. Shepard was still taking deep breathes of air, when he returned to those slow, long strokes. He pushed past her quivering muscles, keeping the pace he set for the both; agonizingly controlled. 

“Ah… next time I think, Shepard.” His motions stopped once again, before leaning down and muttering against her ear, “Would you like that?” 

Adrien had some audacity for even mentioning Garrus, while he rested so frustratingly deep inside of her, not moving, or worse yet, not moving _fast_ enough. Shepard couldn’t even fathom or articulate a response; her senses already overblown with the simulation from a sudden, and intense orgasm. Still, the most primal part of her brain obviously felt tantalized by Adrien’s suggestion— her body’s immediate reaction was evidence enough. 

But they’d shared no conversations about Garrus, especially in the way Adrien was suggesting. 

And he wasn’t teasing her. 

Had she’d been so obvious, or…?

Did Adrien know something she didn’t?

She tilted her head and peered at him over her shoulder, questioning. His bill still loitered against her ear. As she turned her face, Adrien brushed her mouth with his, tongue tracing her lips, seeking permission in. The tips of his mandibles grazed her clavicle. Shepard met him a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss. He broke away and said, “I only ask because I think you deserve to be worshiped for hours.”

Shepard answered with a pitched sigh and squeezed her eyes shut, damp hair sticking to her cheek. 

How could something sound so carnal and sweet at the same time?

Adrien pulled himself back up, no longer sprawled over her back, but not before tenderly pressing the side of her face down, to rest in the soft pillow that laid under her body. The downward tilt raised her ass higher, and Adrien took advantage of the position to finally start pounding out a firm, fast rhythm. Shepard kept her hands and forearms against the bedding, bracing herself against the force, and cried out with every frenzied undulation. 

He slammed her with such momentum that she swore she could feel the vibration up through her sternum. 

“And, I would so enjoy watching him _fuck_ you,” he confessed, flanged voice rough with concentration. He was starting to pant, and maybe he was closer to coming then Shepard thought, as much as she could _think_ through the constant and wonderful reciprocating motion that Adrien was unleashing upon her. 

Their bodies made the most hedonistic, and appealing sounds together. 

Suddenly, he wrapped his hands around her slender waist, tugging them up from the shared position on their knees. Adrien leaned back on his hand. Her back was pressed to the front of his body, his legs splayed intermediate with hers. She expected the plating that covered Adrien’s chest and torso to be rugged against the supple skin of her back, but they had just enough give to only leave minimal scratches. 

She feared he might be withdrawing completely again, could feel him pulling out to just the tip, but that thought was displaced when she was lifted and impaled completely onto his cock. She could only inhale sharply and moan. Adrien buried himself to the very hilt, somehow managed to go _deeper_ then before, and when he put his hands on her knees to spread her legs as open as he could, her toes curled into the soft, tangled sheets of the bed. 

Shepard’s head swayed back, hitting the center of his cowl. She raised to hands and wrapped them around his neck, as well as she could from this angle, but at least leverage was an option. She could now lift herself to start bouncing as firmly and quickly as she desired, open and comfortable enough to just ride him.

Adrien let her do just that. 

Shepard listened to the escalated drone of his duel vocal cords, and could feel his rapid heartbeat through his chest into her back. Suddenly, he pushed up meeting her jounce as she was pressing down, and rotated his hips in compact revolutions. His fingertip found her clit again, mimicking the way his cock moved in her.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, and the upsurge of orgasm rushed over her like a wildfire. 

Her arms fell limply away from him, internal tremors robbing her of focus. Shepard dug her heels into the bed, keeping her body arched and upward for him. She was spent, over-sexed, and deeply satisfied. 

She wanted Adrien to feel the same way. 

He rocked through her rapid spasms in short, erratic bursts. 

Heated fluid filled her body, and she felt _claimed_ , wholly and completely. 

When he gingerly withdrew, mingled liquid smeared her inner thigh; the evidence of their coupling. It’d need to be washed away soon, but she relished the sensation for now. Adrien leaned back, resting the weight of his body on one elbow, and pulled Shepard down to him. She turned, and arranged herself as comfortably as possible. She thought their anatomical differences might prove to make it difficult. 

It didn’t. 

She collapsed just below his carapace.

Shepard knew she was going to wake up feeling sore, abraded, and perhaps, ready to have him take her again. She fell into the deepest sleep she’d experienced in years with a clear mind, and his hand running through her hair. 

End Chapter Five

+++

A/N Continued:

A. This is probably the naughtiest sex scene I’ve ever written, and it overjoyed me.

B. At this point, I’m guessing that every chapter will be earning that explicit rating. 

C. Yay, the first story arch has been reached!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: Foundations: Chapter Six
> 
> Author: Shudder Shock (http://afterlife-club.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Pairings: Garrus Vakarian/Female Shepard/Adrien Victus
> 
> Summary: After the war, Shepard is sent to Palaven by the Council. There, amongst facing the repercussions of the past, and political entanglement of the present, she may find a solid foundation for the future.
> 
> Rating: Mature, consensual and explicit. The best parts of sex.
> 
> A/N:
> 
> A. Sorry this took so long to release, but I’ve been struggling with major writer’s block. I have no intention of abandoning this story, and plan to complete it. It’s very much a labor of love, and a project that I enjoy working on. So, if the updates seem to dry up, know that I really am still chipping about at it. 
> 
> B. I’m pretty unapologetic with how utterly smutty/explicit/porn-like this story is about to become. (That’s really how I always planned it to be.) <3
> 
> +++

Shepard didn’t wake up as stiff, or sore as she was expecting. If anything, she felt positively revitalized, like some deep empty well inside her was finally replenished after years of drought. That thought made her smile, as she listened to the heavy downpour through high windows, tucked comfortably in both the soft bed, and crook of Adrien’s shoulder. His slumber was deep, chest rising in an even, smooth rhythm. Shepard could hear the steady beating of his heart. His large hand wrapped around her waist, the tips of his talons pressed into her skin just so. 

He’d taken almost all the pillows, the covers too, sometime between their post-coitus loss of consciousness and now. Shepard didn’t feel bitter. She recognized it from her own shaky sleep patterns; he was used to sleeping alone, and so was she.

Shepard wasn’t afraid to admit that it felt nice to be in the arms of a lover again, after so many years. For the first time in ages, whatever was going on in the world outside of this cool, dark space carried little concern for her, and that unto itself, left her feeling free.

She glanced at the turian beside her, a mixed set of emotions that she didn’t really want to analyze now making their presence known. She settled on the easiest: lighthearted resentment. Because even if sex alone wasn’t enough to cure the insomnia that vexed her, Adrien didn’t share that problem at all. If not for the rise and fall of his torso, he may have looked _dead_ , and Shepard immediately hated how that thought came to mind. 

Did it always have to go back to things like that, even in these peaceful moments? 

Death. 

Destruction. 

Could her mind not give her rest?

Adrien’s breath picked up, going smooth to rugged in a matter of seconds. He jerked a little, and Shepard placed her hand across the side of his face, as his mandible jolted once against her palm. Her touch didn’t rouse him from this newly troubled sleep. 

How often did Adrien have nightmares? Were they rare, or, like for Shepard, did they happen almost every night? He certainly experienced enough of his own personal hardships in his long military career to provide him with a lifetime of broken slumber.

She remembered what Garrus said suddenly, during their first real conversation in months: _I can still feel your dead-weight in my arms, if I think about it too long. And I’ve thought about it a lot. Almost every day since it happened._

Did Garrus lose sleep at night too, or did the vision of her broken body haunt him only during his waking hours? She hoped he’d been exaggerating when he told her this, but she knew that Garrus was many things, and a liar was not one of them. She allowed her thoughts to linger on him, even pressed as she was against Adrien, and felt neither uncomfortable, or guilty. Only physically satisfied, and mentally untroubled.

She owed, nor had obligations to either. 

A distressed drone vibrated through Adrien’s larynx just before he gave a sharp gasp, and snapped his eyes open with a start. They held none of the normal vibrant alertness that she was used to seeing, and Shepard knew that whatever he’d been dreaming about was still playing out in his mind. He grabbed the hand that rested on his face, squeezing it so quickly and firmly, that instinct told her to pull away to gain control. “Hey!” Shepard loudly said, jolting up, thin sheet falling away from her body. The thought of having to struggle against Adrien during a false awakening didn’t thrill her, and relief spread through her when his eyes went from hazy to barely lucid in a second. He didn’t say anything for a moment, but the grip on her hand softened. He rolled his head, looking over at her, before softly saying, “You’re still here.”

His voice was rougher than normal, thick with sleep. 

His words stung, despite her earlier thoughts. While she didn’t put much weight on their tryst being more than an excuse for momentary comfort, Shepard wasn’t used to being dismissed so easily after sex. Especially after such _good_ sex. She was never dismissed at all, now that she thought of it. Normally, she was the one to shoo her partners away in the cold light of dawn. 

Maybe now that his seduction was complete, Adrien was finished with her— the game over.

Maybe the elegant turian woman in the purple who gave Shepard such a bitter look was another dismissed lover, but she stopped that thought before it went any further. The atmosphere that Shepard stepped into while the unknown lady was exiting did not have the charge of sex, only anger. 

Rage, even. 

She pulled her hand out of his, and placed her feet on the ground, “Work on your bedside manners,” she tersely said, getting up. The insides of her thighs felt tacky, and the abrasions on her back from his rigged body were finally starting to ache. He didn’t say anything, but she felt him watch her nude form as she walked towards a doorway that lead into a large bathroom. She wanted to wash up before leaving. 

She stepped into the expansive walk-in shower, turning the water on. It was large enough to accommodate at least two people with room to spare, and an adjacent sunken tub was just outside of the glass enclosure. Steam started filling the shower. Shepard lathered her hands and she tilted her head up, looking out of the skyline over her. The sun had not yet risen, and there was break in the rain; she could see stars. 

She felt Adrien’s presence, just before she heard his talons clicking on the tile floor behind her. She could feel the warmth of his body, even if he wasn’t touching her, and her desire to be taken by him again started to overcome her annoyance at his mannerisms. 

“You misunderstood me,” he quietly said, reaching for the soap in the small niche beside Shepard. 

She said nothing to him, and started to lather her hands. The water was already rinsing his cum off her thighs and, irrationally, Shepard felt disappointed by that. Still, despite her best efforts, she felt heightened by him, and trying to ignore the nearness of him, she retorted, “You and I seem to have that issue.” She started working her fingers through her tangled hair—tangled hair that was all Adrien’s fault. 

Adrien sighed with amusement. “You presumed, that I implied that you shouldn’t still be in bed with me. I’m aware of your penchant for coming and going as you please. Your careful distance. I expected to wake up alone, Shepard.” He paused. “I’m delighted that I was wrong.” 

_Your careful distance._

She internally winced. He was right, of course. Adrien really did fall into his political position with grace and a golden tongue. He kept proving that it was difficult to stay mad at him for too long, particularly when he made a valid and sound point. 

The touch of his foamy, rough hands on her back straightened her posture, and she glanced over her shoulder. His eyes were lowered, looking at the scrapes on her back, fingers moving over them, gently but methodically. “Do they hurt?” he asked. His slippery touch drifted from her shoulder blades, down to the very small of her back. He touched her with sweet concern. Longing willed him to switch to the front of her wet body, to indulge in mutual intimacy again.

“Not really. They’ll heal quickly enough. Most of my cybernetics are blown, but a few are still functional,” she replied, leaning into his care. 

He responded by brushing the drenched hair away from her neck, exposing her sensitive skin to his breathe. “The ones that can keep you alive the longest,” he muttered, voice right against her ear. His hand wrapped around her neck, tilting her head back against his chest, a preference that Shepard was starting to share. His thumb and index fingers cradled her jaw, holding it still but with no pressure. _Yield_ , it said. Shepard didn’t feel the need to resist. “I’m not surprised. You are _quite_ the investment.” He continued suggestively, “Not something that could be tossed aside so easily.” 

Shepard smiled, and pushed her firm ass up against the front of his body. She heard him make a rumbling sound in his throat, and felt it vibrate through his sternum, through to her back. She also felt the length of his unsheathed cock against her backside, and excitement pooled between her soapy legs. Lifting her arms around his neck, she pushed back into him, silently consenting to his advances. 

The droning from his sub-vocals now filled her ears completely, overpowering the sound of the shower. 

“Did _I_ hurt you?” Adrien followed up. 

“No,” Shepard muttered, her head rolling back into his cowl. “You didn’t.” His hand still grasped her neck, and she covered it with her own. The scales that dotted his fingers felt pleasantly strange under her palm, and Shepard tugged his hand away from her neck, only to slide it down to her breasts. Her nipples were hard pebbles before he even touched them, and her toes curled into the wet floor when he pinched one lightly. Shepard kept her hand over his, as Adrien squeezed, enjoying the way it flexed under her own. His free hand joined the other, tracing a line down her abdomen to lewdly circle in and out of her navel, and continue lower, stopping just above her pubic line. 

Shepard jerked both of her hands down to where his rested, and tried to push it lower. He was so close to where she wanted him touch. But, Adrien didn’t budge, and she realized that the only way she moved his hand the first time was because he allowed it to be guided. 

“That’s because I didn’t let your impatience to be fucked overcome my own composure,” Adrien teased, before dipping his face to hers. Shepard stood on the tips of her toes to meet him with her mouth. She kissed him, all the uncertainty of their first encounter laying the foundation for a more confident sexual interaction. No longer was she worried about nicking her tongue on his teeth, and she sucked his own thick, rough tongue into the confines of her mouth. 

He broke away, pleased. “It was a losing battle, but I’ve overcome worse,” Adrien muttered, continuing his earlier needling. “Just barely, though.” 

“Can’t you do anything better with your mouth then talk? Come _on_ ,” Shepard urged through gritted teeth. Her cunt absolutely _ached_ for him, and the only way that the dull throb was going to be satisfied was with Adrien’s stiff cock. She almost cursed him for fanning the flames of desire and lust for him, only to be such a slow and cautious lover. 

Agitated as she was, Shepard reminded herself that this was a far better alternative than getting herself off in bed with only lingering sensations to use for reference. 

Adrien suddenly grabbed her shoulder to spin her, making Shepard face him, before trapping her between his body and the wall. He kissed her again, firm and demanding. His arms caged her, and his cock was a hard line against her flat stomach. Shepard reached down and stroked it with a slick hand. She marveled at its size, and how she managed to just _take_ it from tip to base earlier in the night.

She hated to admit that Adrien was right (again) but the man had known what to do to make their sexual encounter especially pleasurable for her. 

Were all turians so big, and if so…

What was Garrus like?

Strangely, it was only then, that she felt a blush blossom on her cheeks. 

And despite how utterly aroused she already was, Shepard felt a wave of lightheadedness almost overtake her ability to stand straight. Shepard wrapped her arm loosely around Adrien, still pumping his cock for him, watching his face. His mandibles were tight against his face, jaw clenched and eyes squeezed shut in concentration and gratification. 

He was positively _purring_ right now, rutting into her hand. 

Shepard felt pride in the fact that she could reduce him to this, when Adrien could make her come so easily. 

His crimson eyes opened, staring hard into hers. “I can smell how badly you want me.” Adrien growled, nudging a sinewy leg between her own, opening them further. “And you’re so wet.” Adding pressure, Shepard’s hips dragged themselves across his leg, seeking friction on their own accord leaving a trail of slippery fluid across his steel-gray plating. He clit was especially pleased by contact. 

He sank to the floor, and Shepard’s head spun when she watched him lift one of her legs over his shoulder, effectively spreading her open before his face. It was a heady sight, the Primarch of Palaven on his knees, so close to her core that she felt his breathe against her clit. Water wasn’t the only thing running down her thighs, and Shepard reached down, gripping his crest to tug him closer, fully anticipating what was going to happen next. 

“And Garrus can smell how much you want him too,” Adrien added, with a smug flick of a mandible. 

_Damn him_. 

“You’re _lying_ ,” Shepard managed to spit out before his ample tongue started to taste her, starting low, only to flick the tip of his blue tongue up and over her clit. It was everything Shepard thought it would the first time they kissed, and she felt the grainy texture of his tongue in her mouth. She’d wanted him to do this before, but would’ve had no patience for this sort of foreplay, even if it was her favorite. 

He hovered over that small bundle of nerves, grinding the tip of his tongue to her in a slow flicker. Periodically he’d open his mouth wider, starting to tease and spread the soft, delicate lips between her legs, as to more easily trace his tongue through that soaked crevice. Grabbing her ass, he tugged her hips forward, putting her pussy at the perfect angle to start pushing his tongue deeply into her body, in a steady darting motion. 

It wasn’t his cock, but Adrien’s tongue was just as good she decided. Her body agreed, the soft inner walls tightening around the appendage that was currently easing the dull ache of overwhelming arousal.

Shepard realized she was panting, fingers clutching his fringe desperately, so close to coming that her entire body felt tense. The steam made the air heavy and hot, and Shepard felt strangely safe in the sultry cloud. She saw stars when the pad of his thumb skimmed across her clit, and just the faintest whisper of his dull talon. Shepard rode out her orgasm unapologetically on his jaw.

She was still holding his crown when he withdrew, only to lazily lap at her overly sensitized skin. She watched him move away after a few more torturous licks, to kiss the inside of her thigh, closest to her cunt. 

Finally pulling her leg off his shoulder, Adrien tugged Shepard down to him, bring her into to a sloppy openmouthed kiss. She could taste herself in his mouth, a clean mix of sweetness and salt, with something else that was distinctly Adrien. She was happy to let him move her on to her knees, and spread her legs wide, hot water pooling under her hands as she barely had time enough to brace herself before the swift push of his cock penetrated her. The gaurded strokes of their first encounter were forgone, and Adrien’s vehement attentions left her delightfully breathless.

Steam rolled between and over them, and the sound of water was overpowered by the stimulating sounds of their bodies. Shepard rather liked the way her own voice pitched when Adrien hit a particular agreeable spot inside her, and the subharmonic groans that emitted from his own throat was far more appealing then they should’ve been.

Shepard especially liked the way it felt when he came, the way his body jerked right before, and Adrien flipped her over onto her back, holding her knees out, before he speared her again, leaning over her writhing body and filled her. 

Laying on the tiles, water lightly pattering her cheeks and eyelids, with Adrien’s forehead resting just above her breasts while he regained his composure, Shepard could only wonder at how she denied this part of herself for so long.

+++

It was easier to catch more suitable rest after that, and if not for the rustling of clothing, Shepard was certain she may have even _slept_ in. The phrase held an almost legendary quality. 

Proper morning light spilled into the room, and this time Adrien wasn’t in bed when she woke up. Shepard cracked open the eye that wasn’t buried in the pillow, and watched as Adrien pulled on a clean suit in front of a mirror. It reminded her that at some point soon, she would need to collect her disregarded clothing, and start working again. 

She still needed to contact Liara, still needed the report from Adrien, and still needed to figure out what to do about derelict Reaper. In fact, she was no closer to any of those goals, then where she left them last night. Very suddenly, Shepard simply wanted to shove her face back into the pillow, and forget about those pesky responsibilities. Not even during the war did she fantasize about leaving the effort all behind, but now, all these little burdens seemed minuscule. 

Maybe Mordin was right. 

Maybe she really should just retire, and spend her days on the beach, collecting seashells so the Professor could run tests on them until the end of his blessed days. 

_No. That’s not me._

Still, she was already deciding what to omit and edit when she next spoke to Mordin, which was due to be in a couple of days. Probably the only task she couldn’t completely ignore, less the former STG agent make good on his friendly threat of violence— Shepard would never put it past the old salarian. 

“Won’t you stay, Shepard?” Adrien suddenly asked, breaking the placid stillness of early daybreak. He wasn’t looking at her, while straightening the crisp material of his sleeves, red eyes downcast. His mood now resembled the night’s prior when the subject of Tarquin and his mother came up: somber, troubled, and quiet. Even after spending such personal time with him, he was still inscrutable, and Shepard could only guess at Adrien’s cryptic question. 

“I have things to do,” She replied, and then added with false earnestly, “Important things.” 

Adrien nodded, and replied dryly, “Very convincing.” He didn’t give enough pause for Shepard to respond. “But, what about afterwards?” he said, still unhelpful in his insinuations. 

She propped herself up on an elbow, and looked at his reflection. “After what, Adrien?” Shepard goaded. 

“What are you going to do after you complete this little assignment that the Citadel feels is so important?” he finally clarified.

That took her back, and she raised an eyebrow. “I’m a Spectre. I’m sure I’ll be tasked with something else. There’s still a wide universe out there, with never ending problems.”

“You hardly seemed thrilled with that,” he stated.

Shepard didn’t answer. 

He was getting uncomfortably good at reading her.

“No one should brave the galaxy alone,” he solemnly said, and Shepard knew that he wasn’t just referring to the way she was living her life. He wasn’t satisfied in his position, and probably never could be. Would it ever be possible for Adrien to vacate his title, without assassination or demotion being the cause? 

After a pregnant pause, Shepard admitted, “I don’t want to be.” It was a vulnerable admission to give voice too. Stoic war heroes and Spectres didn’t acknowledge weakness. That old fear reared its head, but was overshadowed by how good it felt to be candid with Adrien. 

“Shepard,” Adrien started, and finally looked up at her reflection. “Whatever’s happening between the two of us is new, and…” For the first time since Shepard met Adrien, he seemed at a loss for words. Shepard patiently waited for him to continue. He took a moment to compose himself, and what he followed up with surprised her. “If you won’t stay for me— what about Garrus?”

Nothing prepared her for that sort of loaded question. She’d expected something else entirely— something sentimental, or even romantic. This was forbidden territory that Adrien already crossed into not once, but _twice_. And now that her brain wasn’t hazy with sex, she could confront him without distractions. 

“Why do you keep bring him up like that?” Shepard demanded.

He turned to face her, “Because I’m curious. When we were stationed on Menae, Garrus spoke of you often, and _passionately_.” 

Shepard felt her heart jump into her throat, and a cold chill run a finger down her spine. 

“I thought he must’ve been exaggerating, lovesick even. And if I’m honest, I didn’t believe you could be real. Even after all the notoriety you’d gained.” He motioned at her, with a flick of his wrist. “This little human female.”

Shepard rolled her eyes.

“And then, I find out while you so graciously hosted me on the Normandy, he didn’t try to take you at all,” Adrien said with astonishment. “The two of you _weren’t_ lovers.”

“I didn’t realize I was such a hot topic among the crew,” she interjected sarcastically. She wasn’t ashamed of her lacking sex life, but it was nothing that needed to be gossiped about. 

A single mandible shot out with amusement. “I wasn’t a part of your crew.”

Though she was keenly interested in what he was saying, Shepard still grumbled out, “Technicalities.”

He ignored her, continuing instead, “The moment I met you, I knew Garrus wasn’t exaggerating any of your traits. Not one. Your discipline. Your control. Your bravery. Ultimately, those factors are what make you such a capable leader, and a soldier. It’s difficult to not be enamored by you.” Her cheeks flushed. She’d received many compliments in her military career, but it felt different coming Adrien, especially now, after what they’d done together. “And even if he didn’t realize it at the time, Garrus was the most captivated of all.”

Shepard shook her head. “It’s not like that.”

“Isn’t it?” Adrien challenged.

“It _isn’t_ , and you need to stop persisting otherwise,” Shepard informed him. 

“Why such denial?” Adrien pondered. “Are you afraid of being happy?”

“I’m not afraid of happiness,” snapped Shepard. “His friendship was the one stable thing I could count on during the war. I’m not about to lose that again. Leave it alone, Adrien.”

“Shepard, I know more than you think I do,” he said with confidence, crossing his arms. “I mean this kindly, but you are a bit out of touch. But, I don’t fault you for that.”

Shepard realized that she’d never really considered that Garrus and Adrien would have any relationship other than that of two professionals. Adrien rightfully trusted Garrus enough to coordinate the turian fleet activities; a monumental responsibility, and not one to lightly give a stranger. Reflecting upon her own past experiences, Shepard would’ve only given her closest confidant that position. The general in Adrien would likely do the same thing. It raised a curious question; just how close where Adrien and Garrus?

“He told me what happened during and after the final push,” Adrien added, now walking towards where she sat on his bed.

 _Very close, it would appear._

Shepard grimaced. “Privileged information." 

He reached down, grazing her cheek with a fingertip. “I would personally hate for you to disappear without a least a kiss goodbye,” Adrien said softly.

She closed her eyes, before muttering, “… I did kiss him.” 

With a mouth full of blood, and chapped lips. She could still smell the smoke-choked air.

“Indeed,” replied Adrien. 

He cupped her face fully, both hands on either side. The memory faded. “It feels strange, talking to you about this,” she confessed. Opening her eyes, she met his. 

“Why?” he scoffed.

“ _Because_ ,” Shepard asserted, hoping that her one word response would explain all that was needed. 

Gravely, she asked the question that filled her with dread since Adrien invoked Garrus’ name, buried to the hilt inside of her, “Are you trying to play some sort of game?”

Without missing a beat, he replied, “Mind games are for jealous people who struggle for prestige, and are seeking to validate their own perceptions. I feel neither insecure, or inadequate. All of us are beyond that.” 

Intuitively, Shepard knew he was being truthful. 

She stood, and he only removed his hands when she reached her full height. 

Her face felt chilled without his hands on her cheeks, “Thank you, Adrien.”

“I’ll always be here to put your mind at rest,” he said reassuringly. 

“I hope so,” shepard said, revealing far more than she would’ve liked. She’d already been exposed and put on display before Adrien enough in the last few hours. 

Conversations with him were too easy, even when she didn’t agree with what he was saying. 

The air was stifling with words still left unsaid, but Adrien changed topics, leaving Shepard feeling grateful. “I’m taking a shuttle to Menae in few hours. I should be back tomorrow morning,” he informed her.

“Why?” asked Shepard. 

“That moon, and its numerous bases, sustained heavy damage during the Reaper assault— as you are aware of.” Shepard nodded, picking up her clothing from the corner of the bed. They were folded neatly, with her pistol resting on top. Adrien must’ve retrieved the articles while she slept. “As one of the most strategically important naval bases our military commands, it’s imperative that it runs at full capacity. The reconstruction’s going slower then I’d like, however. Apparently, we’re still finding the bodies of our dead.” 

“Likely, that’ll be happening for years. Can you blame the reconstruction taking longer than normal?” Shepard reasoned. “Everyone is still rattled by what happened. I couldn’t imagine finding the dog tag of a family member, while trying to clear out rubble. I’d probably call it a day after that, too.” 

“As I’ve said, there is no time for mourning. And, peace is temporary, my dear.” She tried to ignore the term of endearment, but failed. “Every turian knows that. All of Manea’s antiaerospace guns need to be fully functional, not just half power. We move past sorrow, because _must_. Because we _have_ too.” Adrien explained. 

No, he was _insisting_. 

It occurred to Shepard that perhaps she wasn’t the only one in denial. 

He continued, “Once, I thought I was to be Palaven’s last Primarch. I know now that’s not going to be the case, and I won’t go down in turian political history as the leader who neglected our armaments after a major galactic conflict because people were feeling sad.”

Shepard couldn’t help but bristle at his comment. 

It was a terribly narrow, and insensitive thing to say. 

When Shepard silently started to put her clothing on, Adrien quietly asked, “Do you think I’m being cruel?”

“It doesn’t really matter what I think.” His face gave nothing away, other than his mandibles tightening around his jaw. “I have no idea what it’s like to be in your position,” Shepard offered, pulling on her boots.

“It matters to me,” Adrien confessed. 

“I don’t believe compassion equates weakness,” Shepard answered, finally sliding her gun back into the comfortable spot at the small of her back. Now was as good as any time to leave, and Adrien appeared to be finished dressing too. He didn’t say anything else as he walked with her out of private quarters, and to the door leading back out to the rest of the world, to all the duties and obligations that neither wanted to bare anymore. 

Adrien caught her arm was just about to step through the exit. “When I’ve returned, it would be nice to see you again,” Adrien stated. 

“Of course, we have reports to go over, and—” she managed to list off, before Adrien interrupted with a disgruntled sigh, “Not like that, Shepard.”

She smiled up at him, and as Shepard turned to leave, she couldn’t shake the desire to turn back around, and tell Adrien how much she was going to miss him. 

End Chapter Six


End file.
